Is There Any Felicity in the World Superior toThis
by austenfan1990
Summary: Marianne Dashwood finds the Colonel's charms and noble qualities irresistible and it seems that a proposal of marriage from the noble Brandon is pleasantly inevitable. However, as a possible handsome new suitor enters the neighbourhood, how will it all end?
1. A Flurry of Misunderstandings

_Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own nor possess Jane Austen's works or her characters. My work is solely based as a creative appreciation. The story has many parts; will post regularly. _

_Story: Marianne Dashwood finds the Colonel's charms and noble qualities irresistible and it seems that a proposal of marriage from the noble Brandon is pleasantly inevitable. However, as a possible handsome new suitor enters the neighbourhood, eager to grab hold of Marianne's affections, Brandon finds himself, once again, at odds with a rival – will their wishes of a well-suited marriage eventually come about? _

_Part One_

The gentlemen passed, bowing, tipping their hats politely as they did so. And if they ever hoped to entertain the thoughts of receiving Miss Marianne Dashwood's affection, they were bitterly disappointed when she strode past them, utterly oblivious of their various frivolous attempts to capture her attention.

It was hardly surprising. Marianne Dashwood was currently out of sorts and had little inclination to converse with others, lest it be her mother, sisters or her dear brother-in-law. However, her inclination to talk with her family was feeble in comparison to the one that she felt when she thought of the person that she wanted dearly to discuss with. A certain person who was currently not present at this dance.

It had been three days since Colonel Brandon had left the manor owing to pressing family matters in town. It had been with great reluctance that he had left his newly instated parson in charge of the village parish as well as the Dashwoods who he was very close to calling family – he, in turn, could not easily recall a time where he felt much at ease and welcomed by all. Marianne and herself alone knew this for he had mentioned it during one of their much animated discussions at 'Delaford manor, although the Colonel's sentiments were generally well known by all.

Marianne missed the easy frankness of their discourse, their frequent readings of their favourite poems, excerpts and paragraphs from their much-perused books and the intelligent conversations that quickly followed them. Her mind and knowledge had improved considerably, much to her delight and her intended goal of achieving an intellectually sound mind, full of profound knowledge and philosophical understanding had gradually become more of a reality under Brandon's superb tutelage. Nevertheless, despite all this, Marianne was starting to wonder whether it was only the Colonel's steadfast guidance and knowledge that drew her attention to him, above all the other gentlemen that she had been acquainted with – or was it his admirable, noble qualities? Recently and even more so during his present absence, she had realised her admiration of him had vastly increased since their established friendship at Cleveland where she had been taken ill a year ago, and she felt that she held him in an admiration that surpassed both esteem and affection – but she was far from knowing exactly what it was.

'Good evening, Miss Dashwood.'

Marianne turned sharply at the mention of her name, even more so when she instantly recognized the voice that had so pleasantly pronounced it. She, in her state of reverie, had not noticed the Colonel come forth from the doors of the adjoining room and her mood brightened immediately at the sight of him. He stepped forth from the crowd and gracefully bowed.

She looked remarkably well, Brandon thought, her complexion having retained its usual healthy pink glow and her full figure, which had been nearly wasted a year ago had returned and radiated youthful liveliness once again. Her evening gown, fit for the purpose of dancing and a pleasant change from the usual gowns, dresses she had worn during her visits at Delaford as well at Barton, in a way, heightened her remarkable beauty, and it was with some difficulty that Brandon was able to pry his admiring gaze from her person.

'Why, good evening, Colonel! What a great pleasure it is to see you so soon for we thought that you were not to be expected until tomorrow! We were nearly overcome with disappointment when you mentioned that you were unable to join us.'

Exceedingly flattered by the obvious delight in her tone, it was a moment before he could trust himself to reply coherently. 'Ah, yes…it was with great relief that I was able to conclude my business in town earlier than I had expected.' On arriving in London, he had discovered that his solicitor through a mistake had called upon him and upon realizing this; he had immediately set off for Delaford, regardless of the heavy onslaught of rain that had threatened to impede his progress.

'You must have had a tiring journey, Colonel. Did you only arrive this morning?' she inquired concernedly; for he looked faintly exhausted yet remarkably handsome in his evening clothes; he too very infrequently refrained from wearing his customary riding wear and leather boots which were always to be seen during his visits.

'Only this afternoon, to be more precise,' said he smiling.

'Good heavens, Colonel! You must have ridden through the rain for it was raining the whole day! I hope you have not taken a cold, Colonel – are you feeling in the least unwell?' He shook his head, wanting to dispel her anxiety but she was not to be so easily discouraged in her efforts. _What care I for rain or illness when you are at the end of my journey?_

'Believe me, Miss Dashwood,' rejoined he after Marianne's concerns had been calmed considerably. 'Pray assure yourself that I am not in the least unwell from any sort of affliction. No doubt having lasted for the past day or so, I feel confident that I can see through the next few hours with little difficulty,' added he with a small, amused smile that reflected in his eyes.

A familiar voice came from behind them: 'My dearest sister, I hope you have not troubled our good friend Colonel Brandon since his arrival.'

Edward approached them, glass of wine in hand and a most un-parson-like grin on his face. Several faces in the surrounding crowd simply stared at this odd behaviour and then hastily turned away to chatter with their party when they finally realised what exactly they were doing.

Much to the surprise of all those in the village, the newly elected pastor had decided to attend the assembly, the first of his long line of predecessors to actually do so, much less even contemplate the very thought. This had amused Brandon greatly to whose laughter Edward had defiantly replied: 'Good heavens! The people of this village clearly believe that if you are in relation to God, you must become one. We have danced in celebration of His deeds for nearly six thousand years, then surely there must be a possibility that He Himself danced a jig at least…and very well indeed in my opinion, for I hope that He has been learning from our numerous examples.' The result of this had been only ensuing laughter from his patron, his wife, mother-in-law and sisters. Edward, in the face of this, took this as a vote of confidence and being the good-humoured person that he was, eventually joined the laughter.

Marianne turned, finding it difficult to suppress a smile in the face of Edward's newfound jolliness of manner. 'Troubled? Edward, I have not done so in the least!'

'Very well…for I have heard it for myself that the Colonel wishes to enjoy the evening by dancing rather than discuss the tedious conditions of the roads and the horses and etcetera –' Here he broke off airily before turning to Brandon, in mock seriousness. 'And may I inquire, sir, in the interests of Miss Dashwood, how are the conditions of the roads and your faithful horse?'

'They are not so well at present, Mr. Ferrars, if that satisfies your new-found curiosity…or would you wish me to continue?' said Brandon laughingly. Edward, under his new post, had gained the advantage of improving his confidence and good humour, much to the delight of those who loved him. Presently, his stern countenance, under the influence of his patron's laughter, broke and transformed into one of pure amusement.

'Nay, mock not, sir, mock not,' returned he merrily. He turned genially to his sister. 'Now that I have taken, what I hope to be one of your last enquiries off your shoulders, my dear sister, I can only advise you to dance with our dear friend – unless you have some other enquiries resting up your sleeve?'

Marianne shook her head and could only smile once again at the remarkable change that newfound confidence had instilled in her brother-in-law. A hint of embarrassment always followed her new admiration of her dearest brother, for she had boldly declared that there was always 'something wanting' in his manner, and his lack of the passionate fire that Marianne was no stranger to in all that she did, seemed to persuade her further in this wise.

However, her newborn maturity had lent her a profound insight into the qualities of others, qualities that were valued beyond all recognition. Her romantic sensibilities had led her, in the past, to believe that a man, who sung, rode, danced and read well…all that Willoughby had been had been the perfect example of the ideal gentleman. A cruel and brutally swift realisation had proved her wrong…her nearly fatal experience with death had taught her so.

She felt her eyes lead her astray, her vision fixed on the dancing flames of the various candles on the other side of the room. She found herself contemplating the tribulations that she had suffered under her foolishness; the memories of which were still engraved deeply in her mind. Of course, she was not in a state where she felt abandoned, even betrayed by the world – not at all – but she knew, deep within her soul, that she must now proceed cautiously. Her heart, though strong in nature, had been weakened by her disastrous dealings with Willoughby – it would and could not cope if she were to fall into that monstrous trap again. If she were to be married, if a proposal of marriage was ever to be conceived – she needed a husband who could support her, to guide her through every hardship – a quality she knew that Willoughby had never possessed.

'Marianne?'

Jolted from her state of reverie, she was surprised to find Edward staring at her in some bemusement. She glanced about her and realised that the Colonel was no longer at her side. To her immediate look of distress, Edward only gestured towards the doors at the end of the room, which led to the dance hall. In response to an encouraging wink from the young pastor, she set off through the gathering crowd.

Music stemmed through the open doors, the elegant steps of the participating dancers gracefully timed and executed in skilled precision. Immensely crowded as the hall was, it was with very little difficulty that Marianne eventually spotted the Colonel, easily the most attractive figure in the room, leading his partner, the eldest Miss Littlewood into the dance. Having wasted her earlier opportunities at watching him dance, as she had been so preoccupied with Willoughby at the time, it was with a detached sense of admiration that she saw him commence. For a man of his age at seven and thirty, where Marianne would have once felt that a man at that age would have deserted all human emotion and the pleasures of entertainment, his graceful movements far surpassed all those who were present in the room, even those who were more than ten years his junior. If he had felt any tiredness for lack of rest and sleep, the Colonel concealed it well, his countenance showing no hint of exhaustion whatsoever. He seemed to move effortlessly through the crowd, his figure tall and upright while his steps, flawless and remarkably skilled, moved harmoniously in time with the music. The unfortunate Miss Littlewood, however, was not as skilfully adapted and it was on several occasions that she stumbled upon the hem of her dress to which her partner with great kindness, supported her – raising her up to her feet and greatly encouraging to ignore her faults even in the face of the poor girl's ever-growing embarrassment.

Eventually, the music stopped, the dance ended, and with a polite and delighted round of applause, all those who had managed to keep their partners or gain a new one waited expectedly in their places to begin. Marianne, whose gaze was still fixed upon the Colonel and his grateful partner, watched the latter with a certain sense of envy.

She saw them share a pleasant word in conversation, the fortunate Miss Littlewood smiling in response to the Colonel's recently invigorated good humour. Unbeknownst to her, her approbation of Brandon had been greatly stirred and it displeased her to see Miss Littlewood look so jovial…had she not a right to feel so as well? To gain the pleasure of his attention and consideration? She stared mutely at their relaxed forms, which were both now trembling with uncontrollable laughter at some polite joke or other put forward by a hearty Sir John, who had just entered the room to look for his friend. It was only when the Colonel politely refrained from the next dance and Miss Littlewood taken by the younger Mr Jameson that Marianne realised that she had been feeling so. Turning away in her confusion and the Colonel's approach, she hastily left the room.

Amidst the tumultuous noise and chatter in the next room, it did little to soothe and eradicate Marianne's sense of bemusement. Why had she been feeling so forlorn? Envy! It was quite inconceivable! And to feel it of Miss Littlewood, a kind soul who refused to inflict harm or ill will on anyone! What on earth was she thinking – or feeling? Envy? Why had she felt so? And as to what cause?

The sudden arrival of Mrs. Jennings and her brood left Marianne with little time to consider her predicament and it was with a forced, unwilling patience that she endured the endless chatter of Charlotte Palmer, who hardly drew breath from the moment she commenced while a delighted Mrs. Jennings only encouraged her youngest daughter to continue, interjecting numerous lively comments here and there. Edward and Elinor, who had beforehand been immersed in conversation with several members of the established clergy, rushed forth to their sister's aid while a thoroughly reluctant Margaret was dragged from the flirtatious company of young officers, John and William Harris by a determined looking Mrs. Dashwood.

'I am so glad you could join us…what a merry event this all is! Can you not believe the hysteria that greeted us at the door? Mrs. Johnson was absolutely delighted to see us, was she not, mother?' – (here Mrs. Jennings gave an enthusiastic nod) – 'I must say I have never seen her so eager to greet us and it was so much due to you marrying off her daughter to that very charming naval officer…yes, yes…what was his name? Ah, of course, Mr. Bunting, how could I have been so absent-minded? It must all be due to dear Mr. Palmer, he never discusses, you know, Miss Dashwood…and when he does he only says but a few words, dear me!' Here Mrs. Palmer gave a short, screeching laugh, which Edward described afterwards as 'the best and most effective remedy available for those with thoroughly blocked ears'. Mrs. Palmer's screeching laughter only increased in volume as the solitary figure of Colonel Brandon reached the company, the latter looking so positively genial that Mrs. Jennings could not but venture a comment on his improved state of spirits.

'Colonel Brandon, here you are at last! You could not have known how much you were missed by all of us during your short absence from town, especially so by some of the younger members of our pleasant group here.' At this, she gave a knowing look in Marianne's direction to her immense embarrassment. Brandon only responded with a small smile of his own.

'And by the bye, Colonel, I have never seen you dance half as well as you have today!' burst in Mrs. Palmer enthusiastically. He gave a diffident shake of the head. 'Oh, come, come, Colonel, you cannot deny it, for I would wager everyone would agree with me…' Here she looked about eagerly for support, only to be greeted with a row of glassy stares and a fervent nod from her mother.

'Well, you have certainly caught me out, madam,' returned Brandon amusedly before adding kindly: 'I thank you.'

'Ah, here you are, Miss Farley!' burst Mrs. Jennings suddenly, in turn, startling more than one member of the surrounding party; Edward was very close to spilling his glass of wine had not Elinor stilled his hand. A young, elegant lady had approached them, her various pieces of jewellery sparkling in the bright candlelight. 'And Mr. Farley! How are you this evening?'

'Very well, madam, I thank you,' replied he. Compared to his younger sister, Mr. Henry Farley was obviously the handsomer, tall and slim in physique with his dark hair and sparkling eyes, he had been the beau of London until his change of house in the neighbouring country. He had purchased a house in Barton for the sole purpose of marriage – for at the prime age of seven and twenty, he could not let the issue of finding a suitable wife linger any longer. He turned gracefully to party, scanning the faces before him until his eyes immediately fixed on Marianne. His smile immediately warmed.

'Ah, Mrs. Jennings, pray, do the kindness of introducing your acquaintances – my sister Helena is in dear want of company, the country unfortunately holds few familiar friends –'

'Of course, of course – my daughter Charlotte as you will already know, Mrs. Dashwood, Miss Dashwood, (here Marianne gave a short curtsy, slightly embarrassed of Mr. Farley's intent gaze), Miss Margaret over there, Mr and Mrs Ferrars and of course, Colonel Brandon,' piped Mrs. Jennings enthusiastically, nodding at each person in turn.

Mr. Farley bowed politely to each of the women while offering a generous handshake to both Edward and Brandon as they were eventually introduced. Brandon noted with lurking discomfiture that Mr. Farley had not yet torn his gaze from Marianne.

'Mrs. Jennings talks of you greatly, Miss Dashwood,' said Miss Farley eventually, evidently overcoming her habitual shyness in order to start a conversation. 'From what I have heard, you are an avid reader of books and poetry…and a great admirer of music, is that not so?'

'Yes, indeed, it is, Miss Farley,' managed Marianne finally, grateful for this distraction so that she could, at last, find a reason to look away from Mr. Farley's flattering yet piercing gaze. If this is what Marianne had hoped for, her wishes were swiftly dashed when Miss Farley turned to her brother eagerly: 'Is that not completely enchanting, Henry? At last, we have found a perfect friend in which combines all our tastes!' Marianne saw him smile genially in reply before saying: 'Very enchanting, Helena, I assure you. Miss Dashwood, you are familiar, I take it, with the poetry of Cowper?'

'Of course, Mr. Farley –' responded Marianne almost happily, not being of quite a strong enough will to resist the temptation of discussing her favourite subject. As if on realising a need for redemption, her eyes wandered in Brandon's direction, who was presently in conversation with Elinor and her mind quickly and instinctively endeavoured to include him ' – but Colonel Brandon is as well read and knowledgeable about poetry and music, as myself, Mr. Farley, for I have been under his excellent tutelage for the past year.' Stealing a short glance at the Colonel, she was contented with a small smile of admiration that danced fleetingly upon his lips.

If she was not mistaken, she saw a shadow of irritancy fall upon Mr. Farley's countenance at this but he seemed to hide it well, replacing it with a polite look of benign interest within moments.

'Is he, indeed?' said he finally, breaking into a smile. 'Most interesting.' (reverting back to her gaze and stepping closer to her) Now, Miss Dashwood, I wonder whether you have read that recently delightful poem by Byron…'

A sudden hush came over the crowd around them and a hearty, animated burst of chatter soon ensued, many of the men and in some cases, women led their respective partners through the doors of the other room. Mrs. Jennings, rubbing her hands eagerly, was unable to avoid the temptation of involving herself in the raptures of further matchmaking.

Edward, unaware of Mrs. Jennings' almost ecstatic behaviour, glanced around him and muttered: 'It seems that the last set of the assembly is about to begin – ' Margaret almost immediately took off at this, gathering the hand of John Harris, who had been making eyes with her from a distance during the whole conversation. A stunned and thoroughly embarrassed Mrs. Dashwood let herself be soothed with the calming words of her elder daughters while an encouraged Mrs. Jennings broke loose.

'Ah, very well spotted indeed, Mr. Ferrars!' trilled Mrs. Jennings loudly. 'Colonel Brandon, would you not do the honour of dancing with our dear Miss Dashwood here? For I have sworn that she has not had a single dance since the start of the evening and it would do her very well not to waste this opportunity…'

Brandon smiled inwardly as he gave a slight nod of assent. 'Of course, Mrs. Jennings – Miss Dashwood, may –'

'Pardon me, Colonel – might I do the honour of dancing with Miss Dashwood here?' broke forth Mr. Farley eagerly, stepping abruptly forward at this. Brandon froze in astonishment and felt his expression swiftly harden to the discomfiture of the party, where a barely audible gasp of astonishment was to be heard amongst them. Marianne could really do nothing but shut her eyes in disbelief – this could not be happening…what had she done to deserve this? Subconsciously, she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment and vexation.

Brandon felt the glassy stares of those around pierce through him – he overcame the urge to strike this man in the face – and, feeling an urgent need to assure himself, he cast a fleeting glance about him, only to be disappointed at Marianne's expressionless countenance. The rules of strict society and his rational sense soon bound Brandon to his miserable fate. Unable to trust his voice for he feared that it would tremble with resentment, he only attempted a short nod.

'Good heavens…I wonder what the young men are about these days…' Mrs. Jennings managed a high-pitched laugh, clearly in an effort to dispel the abrupt change of spirits in her listeners. It was short and distinctly uncomfortable and a myriad of cool, concerned glances looked her way in answer.

It was as Marianne turned, her hand clasped tightly by an immensely satisfied Mr. Farley that she saw the party murmuring astonishedly amongst themselves. But she had overlooked their flummoxed expressions, her eyes were then fixed by a far more distressing vision: the solitary figure of the Colonel, smiling sadly from afar, his head bowing before vanishing into the rapidly moving crowd.

_Part Two_

Mr. Farley was unceasing in his daily visits to Barton Cottage and if Marianne had cause to be unimpressed with his behaviour at the Town Assembly, there were indeed many handsomely refined attributes that that young man possessed to redeem himself in her eyes. He was indeed an avid reader as far as Marianne could possibly incline to admit and their frequent, intelligent conversations garnered much discussion upon the usually complex yet fascinating world of English poetry.

And so often and prolonged were his visits to the 'fair' Miss Dashwood, there was much talk amongst the villagers that the two were undoubtedly in the very great danger of falling in love with each other. Indeed, there were far more sightings of the 'charming' Mr. Farley leading his dear friend on more tours upon his extensive grounds than had ever been recorded since the start of his being resident in Barton. And it was with a smile and a giggle amongst the young man's servants that with the introduction of frequent tea parties and a weekly musical club that Mr. Farley was soon to have secured a fitting wife that he had so longed for. Helena Farley was in no doubt glad of her brother's newfound friend and when she finally overcame her natural shyness, which came at increasingly regular intervals as time passed, she brought it upon herself to be as a wonderful a hostess as so great a host Mr. Farley had justly proved to be.

'It is indeed wonderful to have finally made your acquaintance, Miss Dashwood,' said Miss Farley earnestly during tea as they sat alone in the lavishly decorated sitting room when Mr. Farley had been called upon to tend to his estate duties. 'I would venture to say that I have never seen my brother so joyously contented as he is now...we had previously expected to find little to entertain us in the country – but we are so glad to have left town, it has truly raised our spirits!'

Marianne, in all due respect, had simply smiled politely at this statement before sipping her tea. As glad as she had been during the past few weeks in the Farleys' pleasant company – her thoughts were continually sited upon the Colonel – for it was clear that that good gentleman's spirits were far from being raised joyously to raptures.

She had seen very little of him since the Assembly, her frequent meetings with the Farleys had obviously taken its unrelenting toll upon their sessions in the privacy of the Colonel's library at Delaford. Their daily meetings had so far been reduced to mere bows and curtsies in the passing streets of the village as well as the occasional kind word and inquiry. She felt that they had not lost their mutual trust and friendship – but the solemn and alarmingly tired expressions upon Brandon's countenance which he had tried to hide with an adequately convincing smile, told Marianne with a certain, pressing urgency that if she did not act soon to at least endeavour to offer him more of her time and attention; their frank, intelligent conversations would come to an abrupt end.

With this in mind, she had pressed her mother into inviting the Colonel to dine with them at the parsonage. Edward, in his own mind, was as glad of this as anyone was but the more so since he had the pressing matter of the expansion of the parish school to discuss with his benefactor. The invitation, set at seven on Thursday evening, was then gladly offered and was, in turn, graciously accepted.

Thursday evening came and Colonel Brandon, strangely and completely at odds with the cheerful mood of the situation, was contemplative in his distracted thoughts as took his solitary journey past the gates of Delaford and onto the well-paved road towards the parsonage. And although he was currently running ten minutes late for his appointment, his horse, Gawain trotted slowly, as if sensing his master's subdued mood and his eyes glanced about him more tentatively than usual, perhaps uneasy at the abrupt change in Brandon's spirits. To this, Brandon barely noticed. Indeed, he had been so pensive during the past few weeks that he had been regularly late for numerous meetings and appointments, surprising all those that were long under his acquaintance for he was a man of punctuality, a habit long reinforced by the incomparable discipline of the military. Typically an early riser, he had recently come to the 'unpardonable' (as he had put it himself) habit of sleeping late and rising later than was usual which had no doubt an effect on his sterling record of punctuality.

Had they but known the cause of such a disturbing change in his habits, Brandon would have been easily and humouredly excused – but his customary reserve reigned supreme in his show of his true affections and he, in all misfortune and misunderstanding, became a target for their combined criticism…but now, trotting at snail's pace in the privacy of this lonely road without a single creature in sight, his feelings were laid bare upon his sleeve.

He had never been fortunate in the throes of love and passion, he admitted it truly – his disastrous relationship with Eliza had proved it so and in the most tortuous way imaginable. He became vaguely aware of Gawain's stopping on the road and half-heartedly struck his sides with his booted heels, Gawain with a small neigh of irritancy, grudgingly pressed on. Yes, Charles had been to take her cruelly from his arms. _Charles, Father, you cannot do this! Eliza and I are engaged!_ He sighed broodingly; twenty years ago, he had sworn never to love again, to risk his heart to the cruel, mischievous hands of Love itself.

And yet, twenty years on and with his introduction to the Dashwoods and Marianne by the way of Sir John had allowed him to hope once more, for Marianne's startling beauty when he first came across her at Barton Park could do nothing but mesmerise him into a state of pure blissfulness. An unexpected wind of opportunity had finally caught adrift and meandered his way. But Willoughby, as with Charles, had dashed his hopeful aspirations once again. Was he to ever find peace? He had asked himself not so long ago in his melancholy gloom during one of his evenings of pure rumination in his study. Were all his sins combined too immoral, too evil for his realisation of domestic happiness?

However, – and Brandon sat up higher in the saddle at this – at their established friendship at Cleveland had allowed him to hope, as he had never dared hope before, that at the increasingly desperate age of six and thirty, Providence had offered him to relieve him of his anxiety, an opportunity to secure what he had been severely lacking the whole of his life, the promise of happiness in the hands of one that he truly loved. He had been cautious throughout the course of their first year of friendship – the shattered innocence of Marianne's heart was dangerous ground onto which he could pitch his true affections – but the easiness and frankness of their discourse as well as their similar and combined interests and sensibilities had made the experience an enjoyable one and for them both.

_For us both… _

The distant shimmering lights from the parsonage were in sight but Brandon did not bring himself to spur Gawain forward. Yes, enjoyable for them both – but incompetent fool that he was if he thought that it would last – Henry Farley, the third man to endanger his dreams… he bit his lip broodingly.

But as profoundly immersed in his disappointment as he was, Brandon had the lurking suspicion that Farley was to be the most suitable match that Marianne had so far come across though in his behaviour, he was no better than the scoundrel who had galloped her way with his pocket book of sonnets. Farley was wealthy, handsome – and dare he admit it, combined all the necessary qualities that a suitor might encompass and all that a young woman of refined sensibility and intelligence could possibly seek in a man.

Brandon unconsciously felt the torment of repressed tears well up in his eyes – yes, Marianne with her innocence broken by the pangs of tragic love deserved a man who was young and whole, a man who could provide to fulfil all her dear heart's desires. What was he to become to her? A mere soldier of moderate wealth, emotionally scarred by the misfortunes of life and a man of seven and thirty, a man in advancing years and old enough to be her father! He had seen, quite reluctantly, what happened in marriages such as these, the overflowing of youth on the one side and the restrained maturity on the other…it would not do – he would never do…

'Colonel Brandon!'

Marianne had been waiting outside upon the steps of the parsonage, pacing about in her woollen shawl against the chill of the mid-February night, refuting Edward's offer of doing the task instead in the hopes of displaying, at least, some of her true constancy of her affection to the Colonel. She was determined to demonstrate that their mutual friendship had not faltered in her eyes even in the face of the past few weeks of separation and was eager to do so. Seeing his graceful figure amidst the dark shadows of the various trees planted at the parsonage's gate, she had called him at last and rushed down to greet him.

Brandon dismounted swiftly, consulting his pocket watch with hasty decorum: it was twenty minutes past seven. Had she been waiting all this while in the cold awaiting his arrival? Seeing Gawain off with one of Edward's grooms, he removed his hat and bowed promptly before offering his apologies.

'Forgive my tardiness, Miss Dashwood, I hope that you have not been waiting in the cold all this while for my sake –'

'No, it is fine, Colonel – nevertheless, I enjoy the fresh air,' Marianne managed smilingly. She had noticed that he had not stated the cause of his lateness but in sensing his gloom, ignored this and ventured to add quietly: 'We were anxious for your arrival, Colonel – we were wondering whether you were taken ill or suffered a grievous accident on your journey here, you are not unwell, I hope, sir?'

Brandon was glad that his tears were concealed by the darkness of the night so that she could not see them. 'No, not at all, I am perfectly well.' Attempting a smile despite himself, he extended his ungloved right hand: 'Now, madam, may I have the honour of being led to your dear family by the hand of a most charming young lady?' before being led warmly into the house.

The evening passed in a most leisurely manner. Edward, immensely contented with the detailed plans that Brandon had so far derived for the parish school and pleased with his friend's improved spirits since their last meeting, talked greatly at length with his mother-in-law and his quiet wit flowed long, the more so as it brought a pleasurable laugh to Elinor's lips, an event that he still had not quite grown used to in their six months of marriage.

Through the bountiful mirth that simply brimmed and bubbled joyously in the small expanse of the parsonage, Brandon could not be but susceptible prey to such happiness, and he felt his gloomy spirits rise up in accordance to the occasion. Marianne made every possible means to account for her unpardonable absence from her companion's company throughout the evening, engaging and encouraging Brandon in their usual fervent discussions about what new books he had purchased in their few weeks of separation or the various spirited critiques of the words of Wordsworth. They then talked at great length about a wide range of subjects, each in passing much more interesting and spirited than the first; it was quite impossible to be melancholy when they were each in the other's mere presence.

Contented and somewhat happier than when he had initially entered the parsonage a few hours earlier, Brandon had volunteered to escort the Dashwoods back to the cottage, offering his carriage to be sent from Delaford by his valet, Will, the weather having turned especially chilly and dark during the course of the evening. Marianne herself was satisfied by her progress throughout the evening, the brightened countenance and his familiar broad smiles that he bore now was all that was necessary to bring a delighted grin to her face.

Their discourse, somewhat awkward and disjointed from the earliest minutes of the evening had finally regained their frank, pleasant familiarity – but his solemn countenance upon their meeting outside amidst the tall trees and bushes of the garden had disturbed her. A familiar question ruminated within her mind: What _had_ he been thinking of during their weeks of the absence of the other's company? His unusual lateness – he was always very prompt and punctual to each of their invitations – and his affected voice, so full of an indescribable sadness in his tone – she was certain that she had seen tears glisten in his eyes but the darkness about them at the time made her unsure. Others may have seen him in such a state…but not her, it came as a shock to see him thus and a sinking jolt had jumped at her heart. She felt that she owed something to him, that she was in some deplorable debt – but as to the cause…she knew not what.

They had set off and all was silent within the carriage. Mrs. Dashwood and Margaret had fallen asleep in their seats, no doubt overcome by the large portions of dinner that Edward had pressed upon them as well as the long drain of the evening while Marianne was engrossed within her thoughts. Colonel Brandon rode astride them, his countenance unreadable under the dark shadow of his wide-brimmed hat – what was he thinking now? Marianne felt her gaze being drawn inevitably to his tall figure, his billowing riding coat that flayed pleasantly in the breeze…

As if sensing this observation, his head suddenly snapped downwards, no doubt to look down at her from atop his horse and immediately, she felt her face blush hotly and she involuntarily turned away. Again, the darkness of the night played a part in disguising the truer of their emotions – and even Brandon's piercing and trained eye did not see her reddened and flushed countenance. She felt his eyes stare down at her intensely for a moment longer…and his sudden cautionary remark to Will who was directing the horses soon told her that he at last had looked away.

Within what seemed hours, the carriage drew to a halt and the excited voices of Betsy and Thomas from close by told Marianne that they were in the gravel drive outside the gate of the cottage. Through the faint moonlight that glimmered hopefully through the grey clouds, she saw Brandon dismount gracefully off his horse before opening the door of the carriage, extending out his gloved hand to help the ladies out of the carriage. Being the one farthest from the door, Marianne waited patiently until her mother and sister were safely out of the carriage, both yawning widely despite themselves to the wry amusement of their servants who had never seen them in so exhausted a state as they did now. They were only too glad to have finally reached the house that they were unusually nimble and quick in their steps as they ascended the path. Smiling, she let herself be led towards the lightened doorway of the cottage, his gloved hand comfortably warm around her own.

'I must say, Miss Dashwood,' Brandon ventured quietly as they reached the small doorway of the house, ' – that I am very grateful that we have finally had an opportunity to – discuss, to have finally talked about the various topics that we have so been used to conversing about…' He hesitated a little before adding: 'Indeed, three weeks has been too long a separation, if truth be told.'

Her heart was oddly flattered by this otherwise simple remark – he too had been missing their discussions at Delaford and her company as she had herself! She smiled kindly at him.

'Indeed, it has, Colonel, for no one has missed our discussions as much as I!' A sudden thought materialised upon her consciousness. 'And I shall make it up to you, sir –' She grasped his hands tightly at this and she barely noticed the small gasp that escaped his lips, she being much too intent on making her promise to him. She saw him smile wryly at her enthusiasm. 'I shall make it up to you by –'

What ever she had planned to do was never said because Betsy, of all the moments she could have chosen, had chose to appear before them, a wide grin spread across her face and vanished the moment she saw her mistress clasping hands of the Colonel.

'Miss Dash – oh, forgive me, sir – I did not mean to –'

'No, it is fine, Betsy,' managed Marianne quickly as they both released their hands abruptly, Brandon clearing his throat quietly and nodding in acknowledgement. 'Betsy, what is it that you wish to tell me?' she added nonchalantly and in as comfortable a tone as she could manage. She was aware that she was gradually becoming increasingly crimson by the minute – as poor Betsy had so far set so excellently an example. Given her mistress' permission to go on, she took heart from this and continued.

'When you were all up at the parsonage, Miss Dashwood – Mr. Farley came by to give you a visit, ma'am –' Out of the corner of her eye, Marianne saw Brandon recognisably stiffen at the name and it was with increasing apprehension that she heard more of Betsy's narrative, her mixed feelings of curiosity mingling with an overwhelming urge to force Betsy to stop. Marianne's face showed nothing more than sheer embarrassment and Brandon's a ghostly paleness that simply told of his silent indignation. Betsy took notice of neither and merely continued, oblivious to the feelings that she were stirring in both of her listeners.

' – and since we told him that you were visiting Mr. Ferrars and your dear sister, he had the heart to leave you a message which I was told to give you the moment you arrived.' At this, Betsy handed her several sheets of folded paper, which very obviously seemed far more detailed and descriptive than the usual, ordinary message that one in those times were to expect. Marianne felt her eyes close slowly in mortification. Again, Mr. Farley had chosen the worst time imaginable to send her a 'message'. To add further insult to the situation, (and a further flush in her cheek) Mr. Farley had taken the time to seal the letter with an overly ornate wax seal and with a very imposing address _To the dear Miss Dashwood _in an extremely large, cursive hand.

The maid left, smiling happily on a job well done, leaving her more unfortunate listeners shifting uneasily in her wake. Marianne stared down at the letter in her hands, her whole self frozen and her eyes quite unwilling to meet the Colonel's own. He too stood stiffly before her, his ungloved hand clenched upon his hat, knuckles pale white in the darkness. An awkward silence stretched painfully between them.

At last, Brandon felt his jaw unclench involuntarily and he breathed deeply, steadying himself, as a strange, inner roar suddenly resided within his head.

'I – feel that I have trespassed too long upon your time, Miss Dashwood,' he managed finally. 'I must away to Delaford…my groom is waiting for me in the drive…' He forced his hat back upon his head, throwing his countenance into shadow, and as try as hard as she could, Marianne could barely see his detached expression. 'I shall leave you with your correspondence – Mr. Farley and yourself have no doubt much to discuss between yourselves. It would seem that –' He hesitated then… 'No, no, forgive me – forgive me…' He sighed deeply and stepped back. 'Good night, Miss Dashwood.'

Without anything further to say, he bowed hastily and acknowledging her hesitant curtsy, he quickly descended down the path, more than aware of the hurt, reproachful looks that observed his every movement from the lady that stood stunned at the front of the cottage.

Seeing Will waiting patiently atop the box of the carriage, he gestured brusquely to him to start their journey back to Delaford while he himself mounted Gawain with an unusual impatience. Sensing his master's irritability, Will decided that it would be best to comply and spurred the horses without a word. Reluctantly glancing around him one last time, Brandon caught the brief glimpse of Marianne stare bemusedly in his direction before she entered the house and closed the door swiftly behind her.

_Part Three_

To the surprise of those who might have strayed past her bedroom door during the night, they would have been greeted by the sound of the younger Miss Dashwood's restless pacing and quiet sighs: Marianne was ill at ease and the memory of the Colonel's mortified and indignant expression only further increased her anxiety. Of all her sins, what had she done that would cause her and her dearest companion so much unwanted misery? She had satisfied herself that all she had done during the evening at the parsonage had eventually brought her sole aim of raising the Colonel's spirits and encourage him to hope that their mutual friendship was not at all at an end, even in the face of a new face in the neighbourhood. She had hoped that this short evening would be the start of many more that would gradually lead to their habitual afternoons on the grounds at Delaford as well as in his extensive library. So often were her visits to his estate was that she came away with an extensive knowledge of the state of the rooms and the beauty of the picturesque grounds.

But with the arrival of Mr. Farley's letter…her wishes of reconciliation for her absence and seemingly unpardonable lack of attention for him during the past few weeks were immediately and inevitably dashed. The pain that flared in his eyes when he saw that letter – even at this moment, she could not bear to open that infamous letter, the one thing that had brought him pain and disappointment. Even a brief glance of Mr. Farley's grand writing upon the cover disgusted her to such an extent that she had angrily shoved the letter into the bottom drawer of her writing desk, a place which was only very occasionally used and therefore so full of greyish dust that rose forebodingly into the air (and also a place where she had never expected to subject her correspondence to).

What was to be done? She contemplated silently, pacing her room restlessly, much too agitated to stay still for prolonged periods of time. And what _could_ be done? Another dinner at the parsonage was simply foolish and quite impossible, Edward and Elinor could simply not cope with such an event coming so soon just when they had just held one a few hours earlier! And what an inconvenience it would be for them all – simply for her own selfish goals…it was unthinkable.

And their discussions, what was to be said? She felt herself quite unable to bear the overwhelming awkwardness that would no doubt play an inexorable and daily part in their subsequent conversations, if another meeting between them were _at all_ to be conceived. She had cherished the frank easiness that they had adopted, never was with anyone else had she found the courage to speak of what was truly on her mind, lest it be her mother and sisters. She was convinced that this was also the case with the Colonel; she had never seen him so at ease than in the company of herself and at times, even his customary reserve had gone willingly to its surrender.

Was this all to be changed? Change was undoubtedly unavoidable in society; it was part of the advance of human civilization…but so soon? When she had barely the time to finally recognise the true worthiness of the situation that they had gradually found themselves in?

Sighing one last time and discarding her dressing gown, she lay down against the soft pillows of her bed, gathering the bedcovers closely to her chest against the winter chill. Entranced by the sudden warmth that surrounded it, her body began to relax and as her mind slowly succumbed to the hypnotic powers of approaching sleep, it was resolved quite firmly in her head that she would pay a surprise visit to Delaford in the morning.

The morning proved to be quite a dismal one. A greyish dawn welcomed her tired eyes when she finally opened them after several long minutes of contemplation. She had at last fell into a state of fitful sleep – only for it to be interrupted soon after by the incongruously cheerful chirping of the birds outside. She was anxious and unusually on edge, and when she had barely sat to breakfast for only a few brief moments, she declared loudly that she was to pay a visit to Delaford and that she would not be expected at the cottage for the rest of the morning. To the sheer astonishment of her mother and a wide-eyed Margaret, she marched moodily out of the door, only stopping once to retrieve her bonnet and gloves.

Since there was not a carriage or horse to welcome her on the road, due to the fact that the Colonel hadn't the faintest idea to expect her company at so early an hour or on such a day, this was to be a surprise visit, after all, she thought to herself – she presently had no other means to achieve her aim but to walk to Delaford.

But by no means was she discouraged, the morning, though grey was lightening on the horizon and the chill February air, to some extent, invigorated her sprits, clearing her head and allowing her to feel reasonably at ease. As she reached the open iron-wrought gates of Delaford Manor some quarter of an hour later, she was surprised that not a single trace of light glimmered through any of the windows. As a habit, the Colonel would allow the lights to be lit if the morning started unusually dark until the weather eventually brightened. What also alarmed her was the lack of activity that greeted her – the grounds, which were regularly filled with people from the village seeking the Colonel's guidance in settling disputes between the other inhabitants or other, were quite empty save the odd gardener or two that made their monthly rounds.

Perhaps it was the earliness of the hour, Marianne thought. Nevertheless, she had never ventured out onto the Colonel's grounds at eight in the morning and it was easily understood that people were not to be expected to enquire after their patron's advice at this time of day. With this thought in mind, she decided to continue up the path to the door.

'Miss Dashwood!'

Marianne turned swiftly on her heel and saw the Colonel's valet, James, come striding anxiously up the path, quite out of breath. He bowed, small beads of perspiration posed upon his greying temples.

'Miss Dashwood, I came to see you the moment I saw you enter the gates – you should not be out on a morning like this and at so early an hour –' he puffed wearily.

'Unfortunately, necessity requires it so,' said Marianne quietly. She gestured up towards the door. 'I am here to see the Colonel, James – if it is not too inconvenient for him, I know it is quite improper for me to arrive this early when I –'

James shook his head regretfully. 'I am afraid he has just left for town, Miss Dashwood.'

Marianne's heart sunk deep within her breast. All her hopes of an early reconciliation… 'Left for town, James?'

'Yes, I have just seen him off only ten minutes ago…' He glanced at her apologetically, almost as if it were his own fault that his master had left on a departure most ill timed. 'Colonel Brandon did not mention that you were to visit this morning, Miss Dashwood, if he had, I am certain that he would have postponed his departure until later.'

'Is he to be back soon, James?' A flicker of hope gleamed momentarily within her heart.

Again, James shook his head slowly – poor prey to the circumstances. 'I am sorry, Miss Dashwood, the Colonel did not mention when he would be returning to the country. It is usually at this time that he visits his associates and he is never to be expected at Delaford for at least a fortnight.' The hope that had stirred within her heart died as quickly as it had flared up. Noting the forlorn expression upon her expression, James ventured very quietly: 'If there is anything at all, I can do for you, Miss Dashwood, to make up for the time you have spent to come here – have you taken breakfast, Miss Dashwood? I could inquire whether Mrs. Harris can offer a –'

'No, no, but thank you, James. Breakfast would not be necessary.' Indeed, she had not eaten a thing since awaking at dawn but at present, she had neither the appetite nor inclination to bear the quizzical glances of Delaford's kindly yet inquisitive housekeeper. Where would she go now? She was not to be expected at Barton till the later afternoon, she had told her mother and sister exactly so. She could intend to reside at Delaford for the morning but with the Colonel gone to town, this was highly inappropriate, she would deem it no less than trespassing upon his good servants' time. Yet, if she returned to Barton, her mother would inquire after why the visit was so short and unthinkable suspicions and questions would then be subsequently imposed. What was her dear mamma to think if she thought that a quarrel or disagreement of some sort were to have passed between them? And when she had pressed her constantly and unwaveringly throughout the year to bring him up to spirits as best as it was in her power to do so! What was she to do?

'I – I would be pleased to visit my sister at the parsonage, if that would be at all possible?' she managed eventually after a moment's contemplation. James barely suppressed a small sigh of relief.

'Yes, of course, Miss Dashwood – I saw Mr. Ferrars leave the parsonage earlier this morning for the village and I am quite sure that Mrs. Ferrars would not mind to have you for company.'

To this, Marianne could only but smile and head out of the gates and walk determinedly towards the parsonage until James called after her: 'Miss Dashwood, would you rather not take the carriage – the Colonel said that it is much safer to do so.'

Having refused all the other of James' offers, she thought it best to accept this, merely based for the sake of etiquette and the Colonel's carriage was speedily prepared with a bewildered and clearly disorientated Will at the reins, having abruptly awoken from his slumber. The ride to the parsonage offered no complications and the cold wind what whipped across Will's face eventually stirred his waning concentration.

Elinor could not be but a little surprised at her sister coming at so unusually early an hour but upon seeing Marianne's sullen countenance, the latter was pressed kindly to enter the house and a grateful Will was told to return to the manor until the young Miss Dashwood was to return to the cottage in the later afternoon.

'Whatever is the matter, dearest?' asked Elinor concernedly as she passed a cup of tea into her sister's hands when they had finally settled in the parsonage's modest sitting room. 'Has Colonel Brandon sent you down to speak with Edward on a matter of –?'

Marianne's brows raised in surprise. 'Did you not know that the Colonel has left for town, Elinor?'

Elinor frowned in bewilderment. 'The Colonel has left for town? But I thought that he had sent you here –'

A miserable laugh nearly escaped Marianne's lips at this point but it was then swiftly repressed. It was evident that her sister was as in the dark as she was on this matter and she had no wish to either embarrass her or herself by discussing it.

'No, I came here merely on my account, Elinor – James was kind enough to lend me the use of the Colonel's carriage,' she managed with a smile as a way of explanation. She was eager to change the subject but the Colonel leaving so early in the morning without even leaving a word to Edward of his sudden departure disturbed her profoundly. Had the Colonel been so hasty to leave the country? Was it merely due to last night's horrid events? 'Did Edward not receive word that the Colonel was due to leave this morning?'

Elinor gazed at her briefly and shook her head. 'Indeed, I have only realised when you told me of it just this moment, Marianne –' She paused reflectively. 'But I cannot help feeling that you have come to me for something rather more important than to simply pass on this information. Is that not so?'

'Indeed, indeed it is.' Marianne took a nervous sip of her tea before suddenly setting the cup erratically upon its saucer. 'Elinor – I fear that I might have offended him, I mean, the Colonel,' she added hastily upon glancing at Elinor's look of puzzlement. 'Oh, Elinor, I have been so headstrong and foolish during the past few weeks…'

'Marianne, what on earth would make you think so?'

'I have not told anyone else this but I fear that I might have displeased him. Ever since our acquaintances with the Farleys, I have barely spent above a minute in the Colonel's company, excluding last night, of course, when we have been so accustomed to spending hours in pleasant discussion at Delaford for the past year or so! He has probably left for town merely on this reason, Elinor, I feel sure of it!' She glared forlorn, into the depths of her swirling tea.

Elinor barely suppressed a small smile at this; Marianne's temperament, despite having matured greatly since her illness at Cleveland, still had the tendency for moving wildly towards irrational conclusions. Moreover, she could not imagine a man of Colonel Brandon's good sense and life's experience to have departed on so trivial a reason.

'Marianne, Colonel Brandon is not a man to be easily offended by such small matters, he is not a man to be swayed by his emotions in the face of a few weeks separation from his friends and companions,' said Elinor consolingly. She was eager to put her sister's mind at rest. 'Reflect…consider the fact that he is a military man…a person of great discipline –'

'Ah, but if you knew more of it, Elinor! It is not only that that led to his displeasure…' murmured Marianne agitatedly. She had to mention the events of last night, as tortuous as they had been to her as well as himself…it was the core of the dilemma that had arisen before them. 'For last night, as we arrived at Barton, I was on the brink of believing that we had finally settled our differences until Betsy interrupted us –' She could not bring herself to say what exactly had been so abruptly interrupted but her the sudden redness welling up in her cheeks offered Elinor the faintest of clues on what had evidently ensued. But that sensible sister said not a word and merely implored her sister to continue. 'Betsy interrupted us with the news that Mr. Farley had left me a letter in our absence…Good heavens, and you cannot imagine what a letter it was, Elinor! I was overwhelmed with embarrassment…three pages thick and in large, ornate handwriting!'

'Have you read this letter, Marianne?' inquired Elinor suddenly.

'No – I can barely even look at it now, Elinor – it is evident that its considerable length officiates its importance and that Mr. Farley had clearly took his time in writing me such a letter…but if you saw the indignation in the Colonel's eyes last night, you would comprehend my unhappiness! And I have dared not tell Mamma of his disappointment, for she has tried so hard to improve our friendship…' She paused, contemplating sadly, her eyes glancing distractedly about the sitting room, at times staring at the grey mist accumulating outside and then the fine threading of Elinor's embroidery between her hands. 'Is it unacceptable in his eyes to pursue an acquaintance with the Farleys? The Farleys are not at all a scandalous family –'

Elinor's eyes darted sharply in Marianne's direction. Surely, Marianne had realised the true cause of the Colonel's gloom by now? She could not help feeling somewhat mystified at Marianne's naivety of the matters of the world, the core of human nature and emotions.

But who can dare blame her? Her sister's innocence of the heart had been cruelly shattered by Willoughby_…Do not be hard on the innocence of her mind, Elinor…_

'Yes, they are hardly people of that sort, Marianne, I agree wholeheartedly with you…' She hesitated slightly before stumbling tentatively: 'But, Marianne, I think it is your _particular_ friendship with Mr. Farley that has brought him much grief.'

Marianne started at that; she had not thought so in that respect and she instinctively grew defensive. 'My friendship with Mr. Farley? But it has merely consisted of invitations to tea and readings of poetry at Barton – there is hardly any impropriety in that, Elinor!'

Her sister only shook her head. 'That is not the reason why the Colonel has felt so forlorn. What does the Colonel care for Mr. Farley inviting you to tea or spirited readings of poetry? Sir John or even himself could have done the very same. If you have heard what was Mr. Farley's sole reason to have bought a house in Barton, you might begin to understand the source of the Colonel's unhappiness.' Elinor knew that she was being unduly harsh but Marianne was much too vulnerable to allow circumstances trail on simply as they currently were. She paused and continued determinedly: 'It was so that he could find a suitable wife to share it with in matrimony, not merely for discussions of Shakespeare, Milton or Cowper! Why, only yesterday afternoon, I horrified to hear Mrs. Jennings herself tell me of Mr. Farley's intentions! Clearly the word around the village is that my younger sister is to become inevitably, Mrs. Henry Farley in due course!'

'And Colonel Brandon believed that to be the true case of matters?' gasped Marianne, realisation dawning upon her horrified features. 'This is what led to him to believe – this is what caused his departure?'

'And no doubt that letter he saw last night confirmed his suspicions that you and Mr. Farley had corresponded frequently, causing his displeasure. He is not invulnerable to emotions like jealousy or resentment, Marianne – you know the Colonel's affections for you, even the more so since he has cherished them for the past two years…'

Marianne closed her eyes in terrified disbelief. She had been so foolish, blinded…why had she not seen this before when it was laid bare before her very eyes? Foolish, headstrong girl that she was! And her innumerable visits to the Farleys' estate, what she had deemed as simply politeness, had no doubt given the impression that she had the mind to return Mr. Farley's attentions…she grimaced at the very thought…

'My God, Elinor – what is to be done? What can I do to ever clear, to resolve this horrendous misunderstanding? And he is gone to London for a fortnight!' She sunk miserably into her chair.

Elinor abandoned her embroidery and set herself firmly before her sister, grasping her shoulders kindly in support.

'Talk to him when he returns, Marianne…that is the only thing one in your situation can do now. Tell him of your true feelings for Mr. Farley – and if possible, for himself. You have both suffered enough in this, Marianne – do not allow yourselves to suffer this anguish again.'

Colonel Brandon did not return within a fortnight as James had previously anticipated – and Marianne was growing ever more anxious for his arrival. Ever since her revelation at the parsonage and many more hours of contemplation, she had thought it best to distance herself from the Farleys' company as well as she could. She could not let the village bury itself pleasurably in their gross misconceptions…she had already played the unwitting fool in this folly…she would not allow herself to do so again. She was not to be at home when either Mr. Farley or Miss Farley was to visit, altering her plans to visiting Elinor and Edward at the parsonage or out with her mother and Margaret when dining at Barton Park.

Her abrupt change in habits would no doubt surprise or offend her new acquaintances, it was the way of the world, she had experienced the same many times in the past. To her astonishment, they did not react as she had duly expected: they did not pass her cold looks or glances in the village or at Barton, or inquire stiffly after her health. On the contrary, they seemed quite, bizarrely welcome to accept this newly fangled distance that Marianne had established between them; they did not seem troubled in the very least!

Glad as she was, the odd visit or invitation to tea was at times still to be honoured and accepted – decorum and etiquette had not escaped her being in their strange and new relationship but she did note that Mr. Farley was not as jovial and good-humoured as she seen him in the past. At times, when she expected him to laugh, he only responded with a bright yet unnatural smile that did not reach his eyes. Sometimes, a fleeting glance in his direction when he least expected it would reveal a dark uncertainty in his eyes…perhaps even a certain fear?

However, Mr. Farley's change of attitude was the least on her mind. With the Colonel gone for over a fortnight and without a single word from London to ease her distress, every new day in his absence only heightened Marianne's anxiety. She had taken Elinor's words of advice to heart and yes, it was definitely declared within herself that she was to tell, to inform him of her true sentiments immediately upon his arrival. This, she had assured herself, was not so difficult a task and she faced it, determined. But with each passing day, her determination had waned; her anticipation for the moment of his return was mingled with a inexplicable sense of hopefulness and forthcoming dread. His appearance would be both indescribable relief and torture to her…and heaven help her when that day came!

These thoughts followed her throughout the duration of the Colonel's absence. It was impossible to shake them off no matter how hard she tried to relieve herself of them. They did not give her peace at mealtimes, visits, when she was tending to the cottage's garden or sewing up the tears in Margaret's petticoat. Nor did they leave her alone at night; she slept but only fitfully – her thoughts lurking in the shadows, waiting to be revealed in the light of truth.

'I must say, Miss Dashwood, that you looked quite unwell this afternoon.' She turned to Mr. Farley's countenance, which was creased in genuine concern, his dark eyes gleaming with alarm. It was a while before Marianne could coherently form an answer, for they passed an extremely sharp turn and Mr. Farley was forced to lend his attention to the horses. It was late afternoon and Mr. Farley had offered to escort Marianne home, as was his custom in his curricle. They were currently tackling the steep track that led the way up the main road from his estate into the village from which there were numerous smaller paths, which then led straight to Barton.

'Yes – I am afraid that I feel so as well, Mr. Farley…I have not felt at ease for the past fortnight or so.'

'A fortnight?' He glanced at her in puzzlement and his expression, upon realizing some fact quite unbeknownst to her, immediately darkened. 'I hope it is not the letter that you received at Barton has been the cause of your distress.'

'Letter?' For a moment, she knew not to what he was currently referring to. Perhaps it was the sheer bewilderment that registered within her voice that led him to say in a tone of strained anxiety: 'Had not your maid told you of a letter that I left at Barton about a fortnight ago? You and your family were not to be found at home and I had entertained hopes that –'

She interrupted him then, quite unable to bear any more mention of that infamous letter. 'Please, Mr. Farley, do not distress yourself. For your immediate relief, yes – I did receive your – letter.' She said this dismissively, she did not want to continue further on this particular issue and she looked around her surroundings in the hopes of finding something that might aid her in changing the subject. But Mr. Farley was insistent, capturing her attention fiercely as soon as she had threatened to relinquish it.

'And what did you think of my letter, Miss Dashwood? Pray, excuse my persistence but you have barely mentioned above a word to me ever since and I am unable to go on much longer without my curiosity satisfied…' He turned to her eagerly, holding her eyes firmly with his own brightened gaze, alight with anticipation.

'I –'

In truth, she had not yet removed that particular letter from its dusty threshold at the bottom of her writing desk since the night of the dinner at the parsonage. To discuss it when she had not even brought herself to open it and read its contents was quite impossible. There was always to be the alternative decision of lying but as soon as she launched into a pitfall of polite lies, it would be exceedingly obvious even to simplest of fools that she had evidently no information at all about the subject. He had forced her into a tight corner and there was no other alternative but to disclose the truth, he had forced her hand and she had no choice but to reveal it. She turned to him apologetically.

'My dear Mr. Farley – I wish that –'

She barely had the time to finish her sentence for a brief glimpse of the brown hides of the horses erupted suddenly into the air and the world seemed to rotate and rise violently beneath her.

'Miss Dashwood!'

Knocked backwards, her breath was robbed sharply from her body as her head hit the hard, oak side of the curricle –

'Miss Dashwood!'

A fierce, strange ringing in her ears and the amber sky seemed to melt away into nothingness…

A loud voice shouting above the din, her body seemed to be sinking, dragged forcibly across a rocky outcrop, the sound of panicked horses filled the air, the thundering of hooves against the hard ground…

The trees, dark and overshadowing ever approaching, a flash of a black cloak, a tender voice in her ear whispering her name…a familiar, soothing warmness at her side…then descending, overpowering – darkness.


	2. Beyond a Doubt

_Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Disclaimer: As always, I do not own nor possess Jane Austen's works or her characters. My work is solely based as a creative appreciation. The story has many parts; will post regularly. _

_Story: Marianne Dashwood finds the Colonel's charms and noble qualities irresistible and it seems that a proposal of marriage from the noble Brandon is pleasantly inevitable. However, as a possible handsome new suitor enters the neighbourhood, eager to grab hold of Marianne's affections, Brandon finds himself, once again, at odds with a rival – will their wishes of a well-suited marriage eventually come about? _

_Author's Note: For my avid readers, I offer my apologies for a most arduous delay, for my first readers; welcome and I hope you will enjoy the story as much as I have enjoyed writing it (this, of course, may equally refer to my older readers). I offer you then, what shall I call, a little taster of my efforts during the past few whirlwinds of months, and those perhaps disappointed at its length in comparison to its massive chapter of a predecessor, may be glad that this story is well nigh completion and your wait has not been in vain…_

_Part Four_

'…and how can we ever repay you, it is the second time that you have saved her –'

A familiar, deep baritone answered this. 'No, no, pray do not distress yourself, Mrs. Dashwood - I can only be too glad to have been there to be of assistance –' That unique, soothing voice was unmistakable…

_My God, is he here? When did he arrive?_

Marianne opened her eyes slowly and painfully looked about her. She appeared to be in her bedroom, amidst the pristine white sheets of her bed. Dark shadows appeared through the crack of the door, shifting about in the semi-darkness outside. She strained her eyes but all that welcomed her was a blur and Marianne lay back against the bedcovers, exhausted, nauseous…and frustrated. _Oh, why does he always have to find me in need of rescuing…and in the rain?_ Grey rain hammered against the glass, and the window panes quivered in their hinges. _Why couldn't it be on a summer's day or something of that matter, it would be much more pleasurable…?_ A flash of lightning shot across the dark sky. The voices spoke again.

'Mamma?' Margaret had appeared outside. 'Where was Mr. Farley when this happened?'

_Yes, where was that mysterious gentleman? _

Marianne could hear her mother clear her throat as politely as she could possible do so.

'Margaret – I would think the Colonel would like to refrain from satisfying your insatiable curiosity at present…you must be exhausted, Colonel…pray, do sit down –'

'Oh, no, Mrs. Dashwood, I would not dare to leave a watermark upon your furniture – pardon my shabby appearance – the mud and rain –' Brandon's voice was firm and Mrs. Dashwood ceased her kind entreaties for him to stay. 'Pray, forgive me, Mrs. Dashwood, I have trespassed on your time for much too long, I should take my leave –' Marianne heard the click of his heels tread quietly across the floorboards, away from the door.

'Could you tell us what happened, Colonel? Could it be that you leaped from your horse and onto the curricle – or did you…' Margaret's voice was insistent, positively trilling with adventurous curiosity.

'_Margaret –_' Mrs. Dashwood's voice was stern.

'I would advise you to listen to your mother, Margaret –' started Brandon in mock severity. 'But just to satisfy your incomparable curiosity for reports of my brave feats –' Brandon's voice had loosened into kind playfulness. '– let us say it was something along that order, Captain.'

Marianne could barely suppress a weak smile – how the Colonel managed to keep his humour in dire situations such as this was still a mystery to her. In the shadows, Margaret seemingly took little notice of what the Colonel had offered her 'Oh, please, Colonel, do tell us…'

'Margaret, please!'

Taking no notice of her mother's entreaties, Margaret, no doubt in a renewed effort to find another means of persuasion was suddenly silenced in mid-sentence when Brandon said, in a tone of great sincerity: 'Mrs. Dashwood – if you are ever in need of assistance, pray do not hesitate in calling Dr. Lyons or myself.'

Mrs. Dashwood, touched by the roughness in his voice as much as her younger daughter, although she did not know it, replied with a rising jolt of emotion: 'Of course, Colonel. May I show you out…it is the least I can do…'

A pause… then: 'Thank you.'

His firm tread was creaking down the stairs – she opened her mouth to call his name, to at least thank him –

'Colonel Bran –'

But the dark shadows had shifted and the room seemingly grew darker, swirling nauseously about her head. Her eyelids fluttered, stilled then closed and she descended into a dreamless sleep.

Edward was not at all at ease. The afternoon's events had stirred him deeply and he feared that he would not sleep at all tonight despite it having been quite a wearing day for him. Glancing at his various notes and pieces of parchment scattered about his desk, and looking down at the letter, which Brandon had set him to write; he realised that he had only managed an illegible scribble across the top of the page. Sighing and crossing out the words quickly with his quill, he sank back into his chair and looked about him.

The silver moonlight streaming through the loosely curtained windows that stretched magnificently across the far wall of the room told him of the lateness of the hour. He judged it to be roughly past midnight. A reddish-orange hue crackled fiercely in the grate, illuminating the fireplace and the several feet before it – and Edward could not be but amazed, as he always was, at the pure sophistication of his patron's study, the roaring fire, the soft glow of the candles and the moonlight combined all made the room grander than it really was.

He had been sitting here long – and his back ached and his eyes sore by much too much staring at the elegant covering of the walls in his reverie and he was pleased to have finally torn his eyes from the piece of parchment that swam blurrily before him. Edward fumbled for his watch and briefly consulted it: it was half-past midnight. His brows raised unconsciously in surprise. He had been at this desk for nearly six hours and Brandon had not yet once come down to check his progress, as was his usual custom.

_Perhaps he has retired for the night_. And judging by Brandon's looks and temperament, he had no cause for any suspicion. _It is almost certainly so that he has forgotten about my presence – and perhaps my letter,_ added he rather dryly.

Sighing rather tiredly and feeling more exhausted than he thought himself to be, Edward gathered his papers at last and returned his quill to its rightful place in its inkwell. Elinor was not to be forgotten – and even more so as the afternoon's events had no doubt stirred her sibling anxiety. Perhaps it was within these very thoughts that Edward's mind grew careless and he knocked over a few books placed near the edge of the desk, scattering its contents across the carpet.

Fighting the urge to curse loudly at his clumsiness and praying for forgiveness simultaneously, he stood and bent to retrieve the various bits of parchment, notes, receipts and letters that lay strewn chaotically across the floor. Once he had done so, it came as quite an arduous task to return them to their original places. He was bound to be found out; Brandon was a methodical and tidy man, and any disorganisation of his belongings; whether a single page was creased or torn within his books or when his quill was not replaced in the same way as he had last done so, the Colonel would always be the very man to have realised these facts…first and foremost.

However, Edward had no cause to be afraid of his patron's displeasure; despite Brandon's orderly habits, he was exceedingly genial and lenient and his anger was not usually ignited by minor or insignificant errors. Comforted albeit only slightly by this fact, Edward set to work, replacing the various bits of parchment into their places. Within five minutes, he had returned almost all of them to their original places. But after ten minutes of staring at the books and then to the parchment and back to the books again, his patience grew thin. A large letter was proving to be particularly troublesome and Edward almost half-heartedly wished that he had paid more attention in staring at the books than at his failed attempt of a letter or the wall before him during his recent reverie at his patron's desk.

Turning the letter repeatedly in his hands, he suddenly recalled that Brandon was usually inclined to place certain pieces of parchment or letters in chronological order when he was currently engrossed within a new book or volume of his to serve as practical bookmarks. Therefore, if his presumption were to be proved correct, he would only need to consult the date of the letter to find a reasonably proper place to return it to. Shaking his head and laughing inwardly at his foolishness, he unfolded the piece of parchment. He glanced at the date briefly but before reverting to refold the letter, the sight of the name _Farley_ caught his eye.

_London, 21st February 1810_

_Dear Brandon,_

_I can hardly express my surprise at your writing to me about this matter of Mr. Farley and of all the times in the world when you might have chosen to do so. But the matter has been decided – and you have decided to ask for my information now and therefore, I have no choice but to obey your wishes. _

_I hardly know much about Mr. Farley myself, save only the fact that he is the beau of London and all that pompous nonsense of him being wealthy and leading a glamorous life as all rich, young men are expected to do at their age and rank in society. But you did not come writing to me for what is already engrained in your mind, Brandon – surely? I can sense your impatience, and therefore I shall complete the task, which I have set myself to do. _

_Farley's old family butler, having been an old friend of mine for many years, has finally refreshed my knowledge of the young man as well as his dealings in the world and – well, I must admit that it was rather more scandalous than I had expected of this seemingly polite and courteous gentleman. It seems to be that this young Henry Farley is nothing less than a rampant libertine, paying disgracefully overwhelming attentions on any young lady who strays upon his path. You can hardly begin to imagine my amazement at all of the poor girls this man has seduced, Brandon – if he is to be called a man at all, or much more appropriately called perhaps the Devil himself. There has been poor Lucy Graham, if you remember, the elder daughter of Lieutenant Graham who served with us in Ceylon all those years ago as well as the youngest sister of Sergeant Johnson, who is currently residing in Bath – forgive me for not telling you sooner of Johnson's whereabouts, Brandon – I have only just recalled that you enquired after him a month or two ago. _

_I wonder if it would be best to inform them of the braggart who broke their dear girls' hearts…and Farley would most probably end up with a musket ball in his head if he were lucky. And these two poor lasses are only the beginning, Brandon – why, by God – I could have written down a list of all Farley's 'conquests', as vulgar the term might be. However, I shall not tempt Providence – for I am certain that you are feeling the wrath and rage that is brought and instilled within our souls at the sound of this news, as was the case with me. _

_I wonder that you ask me about Farley, Brandon – you have not consulted me on such a matter as this since that similar scoundrel John Willoughby strayed across your young lady's path a year ago… _

_You may wonder at Mr. Farley's change of home, Brandon – it is hardly a crime to be suspicious of this man's actions being the vile man that he has proven himself to be. Herbert, Farley's butler, has written to me that his young master's intentions into moving into the country were simply based on the matter of 'recognising his sins and repenting for them by changing his ways and leaving the temptations of town'. I treat this as utter nonsense – a man proven to be a sinner of such ways can hardly change – it would be tantamount to asking water to turn into milk; it _cannot_ be done. Moreover, I can hardly see you, despite the justness and forgivingness of your nature, to bring yourself to forgive or much less think about trusting this man. _

_Your caution has again proved your suspicions correct, Brandon – I marvel at your accuracy but then it is no wonder that you are a Colonel and I have never yet strayed above the modest rank of Lieutenant, is it not? Nevertheless, I urge you again to be cautious and be wary of this man's behaviour…and more particularly so since he has gained the attentions of Miss Dashwood. Ah, are you surprised, Brandon, at my presumption? You refused to tell me in your letter of the source of your suspicions – but you need not fear, we are friends, after all and I shall hold my vow of silence._

_Inform me of any further developments, Brandon, and I shall be sure to tell you of more of Farley's history if needs be. Again, be wary. Be cautious. _

_Yours etc,._

_Taylor _

'Now, it is hardly surprising at my being out of spirits earlier today, is it, Mr. Ferrars?'

Edward started abruptly and his heart gave a nervous jolt as he recognized his patron as he loomed out of the shadows of the doorway. Brandon's countenance was grave and his eyes, usually glittering with bright humour were closed and severe. Edward fumbled nervously with the letter in his hands, folding it in haste and in doing so, only succeeded in dropping it onto the floor.

Brandon put out a hand to stop him as he bent and in a fluid, sweeping motion placed it deftly into his own hands. He turned an eye disapprovingly over the page, seemingly more displeased with the information held within it than at the writer.

'Colonel – I am quite sorry, it was to be none of my business –'

'Ah, but it is now, is it not?' replied Brandon coolly as he turned and discarded the letter unceremoniously onto a small table near the two armchairs that faced the fireplace. Edward knew hardly how to respond – or what to do. Rigidly, he watched the Colonel, his face expressionless, retrieve two glasses and fill them with a generous helping of red wine. He then looked up and held a glass out in his direction, attempting an unconvincing but brave smile.

'Forgive my moodiness, Mr. Ferrars – I fear that tonight I have been neglecting my duties as a suitable patron to a faithful clergyman such as yourself.'

'As with I, Colonel,' said Edward smilingly, relieved at Brandon's efforts at courtesy despite the great breach of the man's privacy. He then added tentatively with a grave look in his eye; 'I fear that I have not yet managed to complete the letter you have assigned me.'

Brandon glanced at him briefly as he stepped forth to take the glass grasped in his outstretched hand. 'Another time, perhaps,' said he finally. He swiftly turned and placed himself moodily in an armchair. 'Another time,' he repeated quietly before he took a large sip of his wine. 'When we are not preoccupied with severe matters at hand.'

A short silence followed and Edward grew increasingly uncomfortable with Brandon's gravity of manner. As if in an attempt to strengthen his spirits, he took a sip of the rich red liquid that swirled within his glass but Brandon seemed hardly to notice. His eyes, dark and pensive, stared at the reddish-gold flames that danced energetically within the steel grate – and the glow reflected dangerously within his gaze.

'Tell me…' started Brandon suddenly without shifting his gaze; Edward turned swiftly, startled. 'Tell me, Mr. Ferrars – what would one do if one were in my situation…now that you know more of Mr. Farley's character?'

'Do you seek after my own personal opinion or the word of a clergyman, sir?'

It was at this that Brandon finally diverted his gaze from the swirling flames; the dark and grave look within them pierced his soul like daggers. 'If it is not much to ask…your own, Mr. Ferrars.'

'It is hardly an easy question you ask of me, Colonel…'

'And it is hardly an easy question for me to articulate, but since – ' Edward saw his grave exterior break slightly before he managed: ' – since Mr. Farley has seemingly attained the attentions of your sister, it is likely that she is in the gravest danger of being another one of his – immoral pursuits. I am afraid that even after numerous evenings of contemplation, the answer – has so far proved – elusive.' Brandon's jaw involuntarily stiffened and Edward could perceive that the poor man was very close to breaking point. He firmly set down his glass.

'Colonel, there is no point in hiding your affections much longer…and I say this as a friend, sir. Let us abandon our roles as patron and beneficiary for the time being, as it would be hardly convenient for us to go about in this manner.' He fixed Brandon with a stern look, expecting some word or another of protest at his newfound expediency but Brandon simply said not a word. 'It is not a secret amongst the villagers of your high regard for Marianne and indeed it can serve at times as a source of vibrant discussion.'

Brandon instinctively felt a small, amused smile tug at his lips at this but sustained his composure. He had known this all along, of course – but his customary reserve had prevented him from acknowledging it forthright.

'Indeed, Mr. Ferrars, indeed – you are quite right,' said Brandon eventually, for once, letting down his guard and acknowledging the simple facts laid down before him. 'One would be a fool to deny so…I feel greatly for your sister – but, alas – ' Here he bowed his head slightly in defeat. ' – that is the root of the problem. My being involved in any action against Mr. Farley, violent or otherwise, would irreversibly lead to the idea that I have some qualm or some sort against him, that my hatred of his person would have undoubtedly stemmed from the fact that I was –'

He stopped here, but Edward quietly and with all the subtlety of priests of his kind, finished his sentence for him: ' Jealous.'

Brandon simply stared at him, astonished. Jealousy. All the nights of countless contemplation in his study, all the revolving, complex and contradicting emotions that had been gnawing and rooting agonizingly in his heart, the innumerable moments where he had dearly wished to see nothing but Mr. Farley crushed and defeated at his feet…all of these…were they simply to be described in this mere, plain yet strangely subtle word? A word in three mere syllables…it could not be…but it could not be expressed simpler…Strange, he thought, and yet not.

A sudden cough interrupted him from his distracted state of thoughts and glancing at Edward's solemn countenance, he knew that his musings had apparently been professionally interpreted, examined and finally accepted. Brandon shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Edward in view of this finally found the courage to break the silence.

'There is no need to look so guilty, Colonel – all men – including priests – are susceptible to the throes of human emotion,' added he quickly as a brief look of scepticism passed across his companion's face. 'To not feel so can hardly be normal or human.'

He saw Brandon nod – albeit very slowly in response. What thoughts must be running through the man's mind now? Brandon's eyes closed briefly…his expression one almost of inexplicable pain and then opened just as suddenly, his gaze sombre yet…enlightened.

'I see how it is, Mr. Ferrars…' started he quietly. 'I, alone, cannot seek justice…'

'As the Lord will do so in his own good time.' Their voices echoed solemnly across the room.

'That is the very truth of the matter, Colonel. Forgive me if I speak plainly…but there is simply no reason in seeking justice from a man who has created no harm whatsoever against your name or person. However…'

Edward stumbled here, awkwardly and there came a slightly embarrassed pause. Elinor's words unconsciously rifted through his thoughts, the words she had shared with him at dinner on the day of the Colonel's departure. _I have no doubt of the Colonel's affection for Marianne, Edward…and so is the case with Marianne's affection for the Colonel, although she clearly does not realize the true height of it just yet. Talk with him, Edward…tell him at least of what is turning his way. Both have suffered enough…let us not squander the opportunity!_ It had all seemed very trifling in realizing his task in encouraging the Colonel's affections at the time in the safety of his own comfortable dining room – but here, in this grand, imposing study and in the Colonel's solemn and serious presence…the task seemed positively daunting.

'By your staunch silence…I think I can take your meaning very clearly, Mr. Ferrars. There is no need to explain.'

Edward started and realized that Brandon was looking in his direction, a small, knowing smile playing about his lips at his friend's embarrassed hesitation. How Brandon had interpreted exactly what he had been going through his mind was a complete mystery to him but Edward saw no justification in taking the matter further. The Colonel seemed to have decided the very same. The clock upon the mantelpiece was currently reading a quarter past one and Brandon rose to his feet and motioned towards the window, aglow with streaming moonlight.

'However, I feel that indeed a high level of explanation would be required in your case, Mr. Ferrars, especially to your wife at this late hour. I have kept you too long on my account and I sense that Mrs. Ferrars would be far less forgiving than you would at my uncharitable hours if I am to postpone your leave any longer,' he smiled dryly. 'You may leave now, Mr. Ferrars.'

Retrieving his case, coat and hat, Edward allowed himself to be escorted to the front door. There the two men shook hands and offered their salutations before the good clergyman took his leave into the darkened expanse of the country night, their friendship no doubt having been mutually much improved.

Precisely a week after her unfortunate accident, Marianne Dashwood was pronounced to be well on the mend and within hours of it being reported so, numerous visitors flooded through the modest gates of Barton in rapid succession. Even the poorly Mrs. Stoddard had been seen to depart the cottage in good spirits. Marianne smiled and endured the visits as well as she could. She had thanked them graciously all the while for troubling themselves to keep her company and accepting their genuine wishes of her rapid recovery, although she thought quite frankly that the whole village paying visits to her, although in friendly earnest, was on the verge of being highly unnecessary. She had been, undoubtedly, shaken by the whole experience but not mortally so and had the honest opinion that all of the action that had invariably taken place (though she knew very little of it) was in gross exaggeration.

Edward and Elinor were the first to be admitted to see their much beloved sister after a thorough examination by the village's doctor, Dr. Lyons, pronounced Marianne to be satisfactorily well enough to be allowed out of bed although cautioning her to refrain from any strenuous activity until the slight fracture in her head had fully healed. Despite this, it was generally agreed that the patient's mobility had improved and Marianne made her own way down to the sitting room without any aid at all, although her observant brother and sister had very readily offered it.

However, much to the woe of no less than everyone in the cottage, Edward had the difficult task of disengaging himself from an energetic Margaret who demanded him to recount Marianne's 'escape from the clutches of certain death in the utmost and exact detail'.

'You should consider a career in becoming a novelist, Margaret,' remarked Elinor wryly after Margaret had unsuccessfully forced and interrogated Edward, though the poor man confessed that he knew nothing of it, to recount the story before defeatedly allowing him entry to the sitting room. 'Fierce interrogation of characters results in superb characterization...and with the additional advantage of resulting in the least possible inconvenience for the rest of us.'

'Margaret has an inclination to be adventurous at times, Edward,' whispered Marianne smilingly as the surprised parson allowed himself to be seated in the parlour, smiling weakly in thanks as a large cup of tea was handed gently into his hands. His young interrogator, in search of other amusements and much to the relief of her unfortunate victim, ran back out into the garden.

'Indeed, I hope that I have seen the last of it…for the while,' replied Edward shakily as he took a large sip of his tea as if in an attempt to strengthen his spirits. There was then a while where they jointly made their enquiries, Edward and Elinor offering their well wishes and Marianne, earnestly accepted them with all the sincerity that was to be expected between brothers and sisters.

They soon launched into a conversation of the progress of the expansion of the parish school – 'It is progressing very well, Marianne – we can expect that if all goes well, that it will be completed by the end of May…' but as speaking of the school, the parsonage and the parish itself – it inescapably led to the mention of their generous benefactor. A tentative silence soon followed…and one could have hardly missed the hesitant glance that was passed from the uncertain grey eyes of the parson and into the calm blue of his wife.

Marianne steeled herself. There was no use evading the subject any longer. She stared into her cup contemplatively and then in a voice of such innocent quietness that startled both her listeners, she began: 'Do you know what happened, Edward? I feel that you have not told the whole – truth…of the matter to Margaret.'

Edward set down his cup almost guiltily – and yet in unmistakable relief. He glanced up, a small amused glint in his eyes. 'Perhaps I am not as convincing an orator that Colonel Brandon has so recently praised me to be.' He continued in a graver tone: 'Nevertheless, there are, at certain times and circumstances, that the truth is better kept hidden than revealed. Especially at times when the truth to a young, adventurous and innocent soul as Margaret can be much too difficult to contend with.'

He paused here, waiting for encouragement. The ladies were fixed in rapt attention. Inhaling deeply, Edward began his narrative.

'The afternoon began in a most ordinary fashion. As usual, I had ceased my daily rounds in the village by dusk and was making my way through the main road to Barton in order to return to the parsonage. To my surprise, I encountered Brandon upon the road and then rushed to greet him…'

Brandon had not looked well upon his first glance at him. His eyes were weary and his usual graceful form had seemed to sag slightly as if under an invisible weight hung upon his shoulders. But the salutations had been friendly and passed in a most genial fashion.

'…I inquired on when he had left town for he looked quite exhausted. To my astonishment, he replied that he had left London only in the early hours of the morning…'

'_Good heaven, Colonel! It is no wonder that you look most exhausted… I wonder what business would cause you to leave at so early an hour.'_

He thought he saw a strange look pass across Brandon's eyes at that but he had merely given a tired smile in response. They rode on in silence, uncommunicative. Brandon had seemed rarely inclined to speak, his brow furrowed and his countenance grave. After they had gone half a mile or so, Edward, discomfited by the looming silence, had started to talk in the sole objective of lightening the mood, only to be punctuated by –

'A sudden neighing of horses and a horrified yell alerted us of what was unravelling quite a distance ahead of us…'

Stopping in their tracks, they had shared a brief look of alarm before Brandon, as if he had been possessed with a new-found energy, spurred his horse forwards, all weariness and exhaustion forgotten, leaving only an astonished Edward to reluctantly follow suit. Only twenty yards later, they had seen the tall figure of Mr. Farley struggling to his feet, his nose bleeding profusely.

'It was only then that we learnt of what had just happened. His horses had bolted and having found no alternative way of reinstating control or restrain upon them, he had jumped…which had obviously resulted in his having a badly broken nose…'

Brandon had reacted, as his behaviour had persuaded him to believe, rather coolly to the situation until his offer of retrieving the frightened horses allowed him to think otherwise. However, the horror on Brandon's countenance when he realised that Marianne had been struck across the head and was now unconscious inside the runaway curricle was one that Edward could not easily forget.

'It was frightening to see him thus – I have never once seen a man so wretchedly horrified or enraged as he was in my entire life…he – accosted – Mr. Farley quite harshly for his cowardice…'

Yet it had only been a moment before Brandon had spurred his horse forwards once again, his black travelling cloak billowing rapidly behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Marianne stare self-consciously into her cup of tea. She seemed to be immersed in her thoughts…and Edward knew it would be best if he did not mention the intimidating volley of threats that had issued from the Colonel's lips at Mr. Farley's trembling figure: 'I swear upon my soul, Mr. Farley, that if I find her in any serious danger, any at all…I shall hold you eternally responsible and as God as my witness, defend her honour if duty calls me to do so.'

'It was only a quarter of an hour before he returned with you safe and sound,' continued Edward, taking a sip of his tea after a short pause filled the expanse of the room. 'I do not know how he saved you nor did he tell me so…he was very – unwilling – to communicate the details of what had just happened. He was no doubt exceedingly angry with Mr. Farley and the only remark I ever received from him was that I should escort Mr. Farley to his manor but this was refused. Instead, I was told to fetch Dr. Lyons while the Colonel brought you back to Barton.' Edward shook his head, the memory still very vivid in his mind and added almost involuntarily, a small shiver running down his spine at the thought: 'It was a cold night…and the rain made the incident even more dismal.'

A shock-filled silence enveloped them and they sat there, still and motionless while the setting sun beamed dancing shadows against pale walls of the cottage. Only the melodious chirping of the birds outdoors and the faint rustles and clicks resounding off Margaret's dress and shoes up amidst the leafy shade of the tree house informed that time, though it seemed so, had not stood still.


	3. Reveries and Revelations

_Is There Any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Part Five_

It had been early afternoon when the master of Delaford finally awoke from his restless slumber. Brandon's eyelids flickered momentarily, the auburn lashes reflecting the flickering light that still pervaded the room from the spluttering fireplace before darting his eyes hazily across the room. The drapes that hung loosely at the windows had not been drawn and the atmosphere within the Colonel's study only bespoke of the intense contemplations that its master had recently been engulfed in. His coat lay tossed across the armrest of the chair opposite him, a multitude of unopened envelopes and pieces of parchment lay strewn across his writing desk, while a large glass of wine still stood untasted on a tray beside him while a large woollen blanket, the last serving reminders of Brandon's service in India (although it did not have much use in the humid heat of the country), had been placed carefully upon him; both of the latter which were most obviously done under the consideration of James himself as Brandon did not recall seeing these two items the previous evening. The caring nature of Brandon's valet was almost certainly the reason why the curtains had not been drawn up to this hour, for it was obvious that the good man did not have the heart to disturb his master's rest and Brandon was silently grateful for this decision as his activities the previous night proved to leave very little room for his peace of mind.

The clock on the mantelpiece struck one and Brandon, still in his shirtsleeves, breeches and boots, arose from his chair, discarded the blanket and stepped outside. The house was quiet, apart from the frequent scurrying of hastened footsteps in the corridor below; bending over the oak balustrade, one could easily see that James was clearly still at work even without the guidance of his master, his greying temples figuring prominently in the dim light, as the good man rushed through the main corridor and disappeared from view. Surely then there was no need in disturbing the man further, Brandon surmised; he had caused much and he darted up the stairs and entered his bedchamber. Gathering a new shirt from his wardrobe and untying his cravat, he then sought out his washbasin, and looking only once in the mirror at his dishevelled appearance, began to rinse his face but his mind not entirely free as he did so, thoughts still flowed within…thoughts that had inhabited it the previous night, the night before and the night before…

Up to this hour, from the moment that Edward had left Delaford after their brief discussion a week ago, Brandon had been engulfed in myriad streams of earnest contemplation. He had refused to see anyone, apart from Edward, during the past week, only allowing those in most desperate need of his council into his study but even then, his mind was troubled. Everything disturbed him, from the horrifying revelation of Henry Farley's character to the accident on the road, from which terrifying depths that he had just saved, and only just, Marianne. He reached for a towel and dried his face vigorously as the memory repeated itself hauntingly in his mind. Even now, as he stood within the safe confines of his bedchamber and with the thought of Marianne re-cooperating with her mother and sister at her side, at Barton only a few miles away from him, he suppressed a tingling shudder that ran through the very core of his soul. Had he not decided to write to Taylor to inquire about Farley, had he not been there to save her, had he not decided to return to Delaford that day or had he even decided to postpone his departure from town by even an hour – God knows what could have happened…Farley could have had his way, Brandon would have had to face the consequences – or even worse, he could have lost the very lady who had constantly been inhabiting, haunting his thoughts ever since their fateful meeting at Sir John's over a year ago – _and_ when he had finally sustained to courage to ask her, on that dark and gloomy afternoon at his lonely quarters on Bond Street, once and for all, to accept his hand in marriage…an opportunity that he had come so very close to losing and by only a hair's breadth.

He involuntarily closed his eyes…but he _had not_ lost her, the fates had preserved her and Providence had graciously granted him a second chance…no, it was his _final _chance. Brandon discarded his towel abruptly at this thought, as if to reinforce, physically, this heartfelt decision and shook his head as if to follow it. It was his final chance. He would not be pawn in his horrendous game of love any longer; he had lived under the shadow of its ghastly, unrelenting grasp for the past twenty years of his life and his soul was emotionally exhausted…drained…lost…

Eliza…Eliza and Charles…the thoughts that had followed him through his journey to the parsonage that fateful Thursday evening reluctantly came back now to haunt him…and then her daughter Beth with that rascal Willoughby and then again with Marianne…and then now Marianne again with Farley…oh, surely Cupid's arrow and not the gods themselves play with people's souls for sport! And what was he to the gods? He had changed his shirt and now tugged at his cravat with unnecessary violence and he was greeted with his darkened expression as he turned towards his reflection in the mirror and he was frightened by the fierce intensity that had taken hold of the expression in his eyes. A mere man in the eyes of the immortals – oh, what sins had he committed that were slanderous that he was to run this narrow, twisting…serpentine track that was love? In his early years in the army, he had wondered at the easiness of his fellow comrades' descent into love and marriage; now he marvelled at it.

And yet…and yet…

'And yet…'the course of true love never did run smooth.' '

It was with little chance or certainty that anyone would have caught the faint murmur that issued forth quietly from Brandon's lips had they even been present in the room beside him. Gazing at his reflection, his eyes wryly registered the small amused smile that lifted the corners of his mouth following his statement and a small, nagging thought at the back of his deeply troubled mind accosted him for his apparent weakness of temper as he seemingly sought refuge in the words of a mere playwright, of Shakespeare himself. Small and pathetic as his action might have seemed, Brandon felt his confidence, which had been nearly vanquished during the course of the week and which had almost descended into the darkness that was nearly as dark and dim as the study below, spur quickly into action, alight and rekindled and as bright as the spluttering fire in the grate of the study's fireplace. For even in the darkest of places, Brandon consoled himself, there always exists the flicker of hope.

Ignoring the slight bristles that had gathered upon his cheek but quickly adding a dash of Imperial Water upon them nevertheless, he stepped outside, throwing on his waistcoat and buttoning it tightly as he did so. Swiftly descending the stairs, he returned to the study and calmly, his dignified features distinctly tranquil, spread the curtains wide and was momentarily dazed by the sunlight that streamed directly into his face and onto the carpet beneath him and the room behind him. He looked up into the brilliant blue of the vaulting heavens, and a lone bird, a white speck against the horizon, soared across its plane…such freedom…a freedom that now – possibly – lay before his very eyes…

And to be free of these chains of tangled love that had restrained him for so long, could it actually be possible? Was he to be set at liberty at last? For the past twenty years, Brandon had regarded it as wishful thinking but now…the fact was delightfully tangible. And there would be no more thoughts of Eliza, of Charles, or of Willoughby, no hours of deep contemplation…no, what was there that would be gained of it? There was only pain and regret to be sought of it. And now there was nothing left for him to do but…

Turning away from the window, Brandon, his countenance hinged in sudden determination, drew on his coat and gathered his hat, gloves and riding crop. As he endeavoured to leave the room, the untouched glass of wine caught his eye and with a moment's hesitation, he drained the glass in a single swallow. He set down the glass resolutely. No…there would be no thoughts now of Eliza…it was the past and he was done with it. For there was only one in the world who he could bear to think of, for she encompassed his present and his future…and that was Marianne.


	4. Arrivals and Hasty Departures

_Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Part Six_

The three of them only managed another few moments before the silence grew much too awkward to bear and Elinor said tentatively, a brave smile pulling at her face: 'Now I can see why you decided not to tell Margaret about this, Edward…she would no doubt be completely wild with adventurous zeal.' Edward only managed a weak smile in return.

'Has – anything happened – to Mr. Farley, Edward?' murmured Marianne finally, looking up at last from her reverie. 'It has been days since I last heard of him –'

Edward exchanged an uncertain glance with her sister, before Elinor rejoined quietly: 'Yes, indeed, there has, Marianne. (looking at Edward for support) You see, Mr. Farley is to be married at the end of the month.'

'Married? But – to whom?'

Edward took this an immediate cue to burst in. 'A certain Miss Graham of London, if I am not mistaken…he left only the day before precisely for preparations.' He dared not tell Marianne of the source of this information or the reason…the idea of describing Farley as merely another example of Willoughby and Miss Graham as another 'Eliza' was unthinkable.

'Oh, I see…' Edward and Elinor shared yet another uneasy glance at this; Marianne's state of resignation was disturbing in comparison to her usual jovial spirits.

The risk of another spell of awkward silence was immediately dispelled by the arrival of Thomas in the doorway whose awkward and guilty countenance showed only too well that he had accidentally eavesdropped on every single word that had been shared between them.

'Begging your pardon, Miss Dashwood,' he started gruffly as he attempted a nod of apology in Edward's direction; it was accepted with a fervent nod in return. 'But Colonel Brandon's just arrived from Delaford, ma'am and he wishes to speak to you privately on a matter of –'

Thomas was stopped here by the arrival of the announced himself. His expression was inexplicable, his gloved hands were visibly wrapped tightly about the brim of his hat.

'Thank you, Thomas…you may leave now – Good afternoon, Miss –Mr. Ferrars!' Having only seen Marianne as he entered, the two figures that had been seated in the shadow of the doorway had escaped his notice. Brandon stepped back slightly in surprise before bowing gracefully as the party rose immediately to its feet. Regaining his composure, he soon added solemnly: 'I hope I have not caused any interruption to your visit, Mrs. Ferrars.'

Elinor smiled graciously; much too relieved at the timely interruption of the Colonel's visit to effectively argue against the idea. 'On the contrary, Colonel…we were only about to leave for the parsonage.'

'Indeed,' rejoined Edward quietly, his gaze darting surreptitiously about the room for any form of means of supporting their claim before bending to retrieve his hat. His wife quickly followed suit. It was fortunate then for the good parson that Mrs. Dashwood made her well-timed appearance in the sitting room.

Like startled deer, the faces of those present flew to hers instantly. It was only with a quick and decisive glance upon the startled faces of those before her that Mrs. Dashwood, with all her feminine and motherly instincts instantly recognised the situation awkwardly unfolding before her…but she dared not put it out in the open. It was very obvious that her eldest daughter and her husband were most eager to leave and the Colonel, the poor man, was in much need of desperate privacy.

'Colonel Brandon, what a pleasure to see you,' she managed with admirable charm and Brandon could simply do nothing but bow and smile slightly in return.

'And the same to you, ma'am – '

'Colonel Brandon!' Margaret, no doubt suspicious of the sudden silence and stillness that had taken hold of the cottage's inhabitants, had chosen precisely this moment to make her incongruously unsuitable and noisy entrance, trailing scattered shoots of grass about the floor, no doubt remnants of a muddy inspection of the garden conducted only moments before. This unlikely vision was very oddly welcomed by all, especially in the eyes of Mrs. Dashwood, who, although she had never seen her youngest daughter in so untidy a state, welcomed her as if she was oblivious to everything but her convenient and timely presence.

'Ah, Margaret, there you are at last! I have been looking for you for the past half hour!' cried her mother in a voice that did little to hide her nervousness; it trembled slightly and she was greeted with an almost comical look of bewilderment from her youngest daughter, which would have undoubtedly drawn a few merry chuckles had not the situation been so uncomfortable and poor Margaret stumbled about in her mother's wake, clearly as one who had not the faintest idea what her mother was proposing. It was then that Marianne and Brandon finally exchanged their first glance, a fleeting nervous and bemused look flew across their faces before the latter chose wisely to look away. In the midst of their confusion, Mrs. Dashwood quickly broke into her stride, gracefully approaching the door and retrieving her bonnet and gloves with a much disorientated Margaret at her heels.

'I certainly hope you are unengaged at the parsonage this afternoon, Mr. Ferrars,' breathed Mrs. Dashwood unabashedly as a thoroughly startled Edward greeted her appearance with an immediate nod of assent. '…as – ' She glanced desperately at her youngest daughter who was now so tangled up within the ribbons of her bonnet that she gave the impression that she had suddenly transformed into some wild and exotic form of bird. 'As –'

Elinor caught the imploring expression in her mother's eyes. 'As I have invited you and Margaret to join us for dinner this evening, mamma – of course,' added Elinor quickly and rolling her eyes briefly at the ceiling in exasperation at her apparent forgetfulness. '_Of course_…' she added with no small amount of subtlety at her husband's look of complete bewilderment in her direction.

'Of course!' rejoined her mother abruptly, deliberately sounding louder than usual over Margaret's determined shout of 'But!' as she was roughly bundled through the cottage door; her eyes, though thoroughly hidden behind the tangle of ribbons, no less larger than her brother-in-law's.

The party were soon prepared to leave, along with a thoroughly bemused Thomas and Betsy, the latter still having her thread and needle in her hands (such was the state of desperate anxiety in which they were immediately fetched!) who Edward stated were dearly needed at the parsonage for the time being; the parish cook having taken ill due to the extreme cold of the previous evening.

Amidst this wild confusion, Colonel Brandon had said nothing, his features drawn into a polite smile at the party's quick departure but beneath this apparent ignorance of the situation unfolding before him, he was amazed at the speed at which the Ferrarses and Mrs. Dashwood quickly ascertained the purpose of his being here. His quick eyes had not been blind to the apparent bluffness in Elinor's manner and Edward's utter look of total bewilderment…nor had he mistaken the nervousness that had shook, albeit momentarily, in Mrs. Dashwood's voice. Had the intent and earnest expression on his face shown too clearly? He certainly felt quite a fool in his being the cause of such wanton disarray in the emotions of the people that he loved most…he dared a fleeting glance in Marianne's direction, noted the obvious discomfiture upon her strained expression and felt his confidence, which had heretofore sustained itself, wane flaggingly.

The party left – and the both of them were left alone. Alone with their thoughts, their fears – and a deafening silence.


	5. Proposal and Preparations

_Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Part Seven_

Marianne had not seen the Colonel since their meeting outside that ill-fated Thursday evening outside the cottage…and after glancing briefly at his uneasy countenance, she immediately held no great hopes for a pleasant afternoon's conversation. Shifting nervously about the floor, she then sat down, gathering her abandoned needlework. Forcing a small smile in his direction, she then threw her eyes determinedly at her work and the minute stitches that threaded across the board. The Colonel followed suit, only taking his time to lay down his hat, gloves and crop upon a nearby table before sitting down.

Marianne's heart beat nervously in her heart – and her hands trembled involuntarily as they pulled fruitlessly at the threaded needle.

'I do hope you are feeling better, Miss Dashwood,' said he after a few minutes silence. The words stuck in his throat and Marianne's face fell as she realised the possible cause of his visit. He had not forgiven her…foolish girl that she was for thinking that she would be! That was immediately evident; no…it was confirmed – confirmed by the frown that lingered in his eyes and the creasing of his brow. The latter then rose quizzically and she remembered that he had enquired after her health.

'Yes – much better…' she murmured quietly. He seemed satisfied at her answer, and endeavoured to speak further before she added suddenly and with utmost sincerity, 'And – I thank you.'

His eyes started in surprise at her tone of complete earnestness and abruptly darkened at the implication of her answer. Did she know of how she had been saved? And furthermore, his part in it?

He looked away and she returned to her needlework, quite unable to think of anything else to distract her thoughts. The darkening of his gaze at the implication of the accident was proof enough of his reason for coming to Barton. He was no doubt here to end their friendship…her constant fears had terrifyingly turned into living proof. In misery, she endeavoured to part the blame entirely on Mr Farley and with equal disappointment, found that she had not the heart to do so – although perhaps, she surmised with a surprising disdain that had heretofore escaped her knowledge, it was not wholly undeserved towards that particular gentleman.

Nevertheless, it was the immense weight that hung upon her present consciousness that tugged her from the depths of her silent reverie. She shifted slightly in her seat and he immediately raised himself from his own. She looked up, afraid that he would take his leave, but just as quickly looked back down. He had only stepped heavily towards the open window and was now looking gravely out of it…and she quietly grieved at the distance that had been inevitably stretched between them.

Discomfited by the awkward chaos that had been brandished before him at his arrival, Brandon was feeling equally at unease. He had never believed that he would feel so. Envisioning the ideal proposal that had fluttered unconsciously a hundred times through his mind since its composition all those months ago, he was appalled by the situation he found themselves in. He had expected joy – not dread. He had imagined pouring his love for her, his hands clasped about hers, kneeling before her… And now, having seen the nervous reluctance in Marianne's countenance and the gradual unfolding of unbearable awkwardness – it was an impossible shambles. The wine had initially invigorated his spirits. Now it only stirred languidly within him.

He forced his gaze outwards and caught the brief glimpse of Margaret hiding in the trees, staring in his direction. His face fell – even before a determined Mrs. Dashwood dragged her forcibly back down the path. A sudden thought took hold of him – should he leave? His eyes lingered apprehensively over her still figure, her head bowed determinedly over her work… Or dare he finally put an end to their suffering?

She felt his gaze upon her but dared not look up, feeling the strain rushing up hotly into her cheeks. For minutes on end, he stood there; his graceful hands resting against the tabletop, the slight breeze that entered through the open window ruffling his hair…and Marianne thought her heart would burst in her breast if he did not look away.

As if sensing her anxiety, his head snapped abruptly towards the window, and an immense rush of relief swept through her veins. Now it was time for her to make her leave – she would not let him pronounce those words…those words which would carry so much pain and lingering sadness if they were ever at all coldly murmured in her unwilling ears. If she was certain of anything – anything at all…it was that a cold word of final departure from the Colonel's lips would mercilessly break her heart. That was certainty.

She rose and discarded her work and rushed towards the stairs.

'Miss Dashwood – Marianne…'

The sound of her Christian name and pronounced in so loving, so desperate a tone caught her breath in her throat and she stilled in her steps. He had turned toward her now and she too turned towards him, inexplicably drawn by the unmistakable tenderness in his voice and the yearning, desperate expression that had taken hold of his gaze. He spoke again.

'Marianne…tell me, once and for all, and truthfully…have I any chance of ever succeeding?' She really could say nothing. 'I know, to a great extent, a very great extent, that a man at the advanced age of seven and thirty has little chance in competing with another man of seven and twenty – but…no, why should I hesitate?' Mesmerisingly, he drew closer to her. 'My dearest Marianne, if you can find within your heart, yes, your dearest heart of hearts, to bring yourself to love a man who loves you to the depths of his soul, who will protect you with all that he holds dear to his heart and who can see no woman equal to you in both mind and spirit…tell me so at once.' He paused, his eyes fixed intently upon her own.

Her mind was in upheaval. She hardly knew what to say – but the first question that arose to her head was that did she _love_ him? Come to love the man standing anxiously before her, the steadfast soldier who had risked his life in engaging in a duel for both her and Beth's sake and moreover, the noble gentleman who stood by her throughout her suffering regardless of her past preference for another? And even she did not, was she prepared _to learn_ to love him? Was she?

She let out an involuntary gasp of realization and turned away in bewilderment. His face fell; replaced with an expression of utter disbelief and disappointment.

'Colonel Brandon – '

He shook his head, more out of sincere shock than anger. He had long expected this, long expected her reaction…he had…

He struggled with his words. 'Your – reaction is – no doubt to be expected, Mari – Miss Dashwood. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. I – I think it best, for both of us, if I took my leave.'

His reverted formality and coolness hurt Marianne deeply, she turned to him abruptly. To be so unfeeling – foolish – when he was so desperately in need of encouragement…comfort…why on earth was she always doing_ the wrong things_?

Unsteadily, he rose to his feet and underneath his frosty exterior, she suspected lay a much deeper hurt than she had expected. Almost subconsciously, he gathered his hat, his riding gloves and his crop; Brandon knew scarcely what he was doing. His mind was in an upheaval of contradicting emotions…he felt himself give a short bow and leave the room.

'Colonel Brandon!'

He stopped in his tracks and with a ferocity that startled her, whipped around. Having rushed towards him to detain him and being so close to his person, his abrupt turn towards her caused her to topple, off-balanced. His arms instinctively thrust forwards, grasping her arms firmly to prevent her from falling. His hat, gloves and crop lay scattered across the floor but he barely seemed to notice. The intensity in his eyes captured the wandering gaze of her own and they stood there, in perfect stillness, awaiting the other's next move.

It was she who finally made the decisive move. Releasing herself gently from his grasp, she gazed up at him, into his face, full of tentative uncertainty, into his deep, hazel eyes until something in his powerful expression caught her off guard and gave her an unfamiliar and peculiar sense of confidence. Slowly and with the impression that she had been waiting her entire life for this moment, she quite effortlessly and without a single trace of embarrassment, reached up towards him and pressed her lips against his.

Oddly exhilarated and yet perfectly at ease, it was at that precise moment that she understood that there was to be no other for her but the man standing before her. His arms abruptly folded around her and in the strange yet pleasantly familiar circle of his arms; it came to her, a fact pure and simple, so simple that she thought herself a fool not to have realised it sooner. Her weeks of rumination, careful consideration, her concern for his health, his feelings, his own well-being…and her high regard and admiration of his noble qualities…they had all inevitably resulted in this blissful, inexplicable feeling that coursed through her veins.

Was this love, she thought…not a flight of fancy, a heightened, passionate idea of romantic ideals that she had always related with what she had felt for Willoughby…but true, sincere love? If what she was experiencing now, deep within her heart, in this man's arms was not to be called so – then what was?

To her profound astonishment, a warm confidence that pounded within her heart told that she was neither inclined nor wanted to care.

At last, they broke apart, and his embrace loosened, albeit only slightly, only slightly enough for him to stare down tenderly, before adding softly, a glimmer of exhilarated joy radiating within his eyes: 'I would interpret that as an obvious 'yes'.'

_Part Eight_

It was only before the end of the week that the whole of Delaford and Barton knew that Colonel Brandon, the patron of the village and whom everyone had nearly deemed as a permanent bachelor was finally to be wed to the charming Miss Dashwood. Both men and women familiar to the Colonel and his young fiancée rejoiced at the news of the approaching wedding and nearly everyone had their own manner in which to greet the Colonel's engagement.

Mrs. Jennings, though it seemed quite inconceivable by more than one person in the village, grew more boisterous and cheerful, teasing either the couple or themselves individually when she had the chance to meet them. Brandon laughed modestly at her mention of there 'being no more than a dozen young ladies who were to be very disappointed at the news of his engagement'. It was widely known that there had been many ladies eager to attain his attention in the past for though he was not handsome, he was deemed as an attractive and noble gentleman; an undoubtedly suitable husband for any lucky young woman who happened to stray across his path.

'Please, Mrs Jennings,' entreated he one evening when they had all assembled at Barton Park. 'You are much too generous in your descriptions.'

'Yes – and if I might say so, dear mother-in-law', ventured a hearty Sir John, 'you are quite on the verge of making more than one gentleman in the village quite envious of this old soldier,' he added cheerfully, giving Brandon a jovial pat on the shoulder.

'Oh, how can you be such a tease, John!' laughed Mrs Jennings before turning to Brandon's smiling countenance. 'And Colonel Brandon – you know this is nothing but the absolute truth!' she trilled enthusiastically, smiling at the Colonel's diffident shrug in return. 'And you _must_ hold a dance in honour of this event, dear Colonel – I will brook no refusals…it is positively out of the question that you should squander this opportunity –' added she with unabated excitement as her eyes briefly glanced at Marianne's graceful figure at the pianoforte. Having lent her concentration to the conversation unfolding loudly a few feet away from her, Marianne's voice had gradually – and considerably weakened. In the face of Mrs Jennings' inquiring stare, she now struggled to regain it and with increasing embarrassment.

Brandon's gaze soon followed – and upon seeing the inevitable softening of his expression, Marianne's voice immediately grew firm…with the neither of them noticed the knowing glances that were shared between the majority of the party or the merry chuckles that were so enthusiastically elicited from the good mistress of the house.

It was decided that, indeed, to Mrs Jennings' suggestion, and with utter delight on that kind lady's part, a dance was to be held at Delaford in honour of the occasion. The town rejoiced accordingly, eagerly anticipating the forthcoming festivities as well as displaying unexpected enthusiasm at the prospect of a new patroness of the village. Windows were scrubbed with admirable precision, houses cleaned with remarkable easiness of manner while the younger members of the community were beginning to be dressed in their Sunday-best, despite the fact that the wedding of their renowned patron was not to be for another two months!

Brandon looked upon the eager joviality of the village with a pleased yet puzzled eye. He had merely smiled when he had been overwhelmed with well-wishers at Delaford manor on the announcement of his impending marriage. However, it did not prepare him for the immense shock that he received when he was twice nearly overthrown his horse, Gawain, when the village endeavoured to overwhelm him with gifts while on his habitual inspection of the village grounds.

'Surely such gifts and well-wishes are to be expected on such an occasion as this, but surely this is certainly quite extraordinary,' remarked Brandon as they walked across the expanse of the sunlit grounds at Barton, with Marianne at his arm. Mrs Dashwood had very lately been taken to inviting her future son-in-law to Barton more than usual – and the latter had, in return, very gladly acquiesced to the proposal…much to Marianne's delight.

Marianne gleamed a vibrant smile in his direction. She was exceedingly pleased by the re-attainment of his jovial spirits…and it delighted her to see him so at ease with himself. It had nearly tortured her to see him so low when they met at last only a week ago and with the prospect of a possible end to their friendship leading her thoughts throughout the visit – it was with both immense relief and utter amazement that she found herself, a week later, engaged to him. She had certainly not imagined so – no, no thought of his ever proposing to her had ever entered her mind and it was only when he had finally sustained the courage to speak to her that she immediately understood his heartfelt purpose. And what happiness, what joy had followed! And she was determined not to let his spirits be once again led asunder.

'I certainly hope that you're not proposing to be condescending to your own beneficiaries, Christopher,' she smiled. She had lately taken to calling him by his Christian name; the word being a delight as it sprung off her lips – and by the tender delight that inescapably glowed in his eyes each time she said it, reassured her that his gratefulness was almost in equal measure. Now, that delight was mingled with a sense of bewilderment and pressing her advantage, she impishly started to tease him: 'Or the townspeople will think me a _most_ unsuitable influence on you and beg you to rethink your impending marriage.' She sighed, looking about. 'Would they stone my windows in their outrage, do you think?'

His answer to this was a thoroughly raised eyebrow. 'You can be nothing but the best influence on me, Marianne.' He smiled at the heightened blush that rose in her cheeks but said nothing of it, only adding in mock seriousness: 'As for the prospect of smashed windows, my dear; it would grievously fall into my own hands if word ever gets out that I have rethought my position.'

'And may venture to inquire after your stance on that position, sir?' Marianne teased.

He stopped and turned to her, capturing her gaze within his own. 'On that matter, you need not ask…for my mind is quite certain.' He paused, smiling. 'Mrs Brandon.'

Gently moving a stray hair from her face, he then leant to kiss her but was prevented by doing so as a loud shout of surprise and then a muffled thump resounded upon the ground behind them. Laughing and releasing the other's arm, they rushed to the aid of the sprawled figure upon the grass – and the two of them, with a thoroughly embarrassed-looking Margaret between them, finally returned to the house.


	6. Finale

_Is there any Felicity in the World Superior to This?_

_Part Nine_

'So it is to be so – you are finally to be married, Marianne,' said Elinor, looking on her sister's reflection in the mirror as they prepared for the dance at Delaford. Marianne smiled in return and the two shared another smile as they heard Margaret, with customary panache, storm disgruntledly downstairs at Edward's hasty departure.

Edward, earlier that afternoon, had proposed on joining his soon-to-be-wed sister at Barton, where from thence on, the three sisters; Elinor, Marianne and Margaret, as well as their mother, along with himself would then venture on together to Delaford. Elinor had rejoiced at the idea and they had dressed into their evening wear in such haste that poor Edward left his gloves and stick at the parsonage and was now hesitantly venturing back home to retrieve them.

'Yes, Elinor – and I am glad of it that, for once, I sustained enough sense to see through my actions,' said Marianne. She looked at her sister warmly. 'And you to be a mother, Elinor!' she exclaimed. 'Surely this is happiness indeed. And I, to be a aunt and wife – and only seven months between these marvellous events!'

'I would pray that you will not spoil him…or her,' teased Elinor. 'It would be quite a sight to see another familiar figure dashing about the country in heavy rain.'

'Far better it be by me than Margaret, Elinor,' interjected Marianne wryly. 'I would imagine that Edward would be hardly amused when he finds that 'familiar' figure rolling about in the leaves of the garden.'

A loud stomping noise alerted them from outside the corridor, seeming like the heels of ones shoes marching madly against the floorboards. The two sisters shared an amused laugh, acknowledging the other's thoughts.

Elinor's brows were raised. 'Quite intriguing, Marianne…for I have never heard you say such a thing.' She ventured a mock gasp. 'Is it possible that my dearest sister is finally maturing?' asked Elinor teasingly.

Marianne, quite used to her sister's humorous turn of remarks, merely smiled in return before turning back to her reflection in her looking-glass. Elinor was quite correct; by all means…she was indeed, as she had always been so during her entire life. However, Elinor had changed…quite interestingly since her marriage to Edward. She was much more inclined to be humorous than grave and composed as Marianne had so unjustly criticised a year before. There, Marianne felt a sudden pang in her heart…although it was not wholly beyond her to recognise that sudden pain as a relapse of fleeting guilt. For Elinor to have harboured such a pain, such a heartache that seemed to beyond her abilities on the surface had shaken Marianne completely…and to have suffered it all, even her own selfish and neglectful acts after Willoughby's departure! That was indeed suffering! But perhaps not all pain is wholly bad. For we must all suffer in life to achieve our utmost best…and the rewards that await us at the end of the long, arduous journey…purely inexplicable!

For Elinor had finally attained the love of Edward, despite all her suffering. Oh, and what marvellous change it had sprung up within her. Perhaps the idea of entering the sanctuary of marriage was indeed more important than Marianne had ever dared to dream of. It was not as romantic a union as she had once thought it to be…not merely poetry and sonnets and endless songs sung into the fleeting nights. But a union, a journey into self-exploration into the depths of one's mind and soul and not of one's own self but as well as the other.

'Marianne?'

She started, Elinor's voice abruptly drawing her out of train of thought. The world slowly shifted into view and through her looking-glass saw Elinor's own concerned reflection. Turning and willing herself not to glance at the fleeting blush that had rose in her cheeks; she ventured a confident smile.

'It is nothing, Elinor,' she said assuringly.

Elinor raised yet another inquisitive brow. 'Surely that nothing was certainly _something_, Marianne.' Her eyes glanced about her face before she rose to her feet. 'Your cheeks are red, Marianne…' She gave her a concerned frown, suddenly fearing the worst. 'You are not venturing second thoughts, are you, Marianne?'

'Second thoughts?' started Marianne, her eyes widening in surprise. 'Elinor…'

'It is surprising but not wholly unexpected,' continued Elinor quietly, obviously engaged in thoughts quite beyond her. Mistaking Marianne's surprise as confirmation of her lurking doubts and insecurities, Elinor felt a familiar sensation wash over her. She too had doubted whether Edward's marriage to her could be deemed as suitable and heaven knows how long she had been so engrossed in her various doubts. In the end, her anxieties had given way to emotion…and for once, Elinor had allowed her heart to take over her mind. With Marianne, it would be quite different…for there was too much heart within her that no mind could ever dare contradict the various emotions flowing within! Or so it had been a year ago…and if mind could, for once, ever dare contradict…?

_The heart alone tells genuine emotion – thoughts distil, leaving only doubts and endless mutterings of opportunities long lost. _

'Marianne, whatever doubts and anxieties you must harbour…you must understand that they are only there to mislead you,' started Elinor a trifle desperately. 'Do not let your mind take over what you feel within…'

'Elinor, please!' cried Marianne with a small laugh as she realised the true course of where her sister's conversation was heading. Slightly alarmed at Elinor's urgent tone and earnest countenance, Marianne then managed, once again, to assuage her sister's fears.

'Elinor, you have no need to be fearful for my state of mind.' Another small laugh left her lips before the latter were graced with a kindly smile. 'You mistook my reddened countenance for anxiety…I assure you that the matter that had been running in my mind was something of a quite different nature.'

'Indeed?' ventured Elinor faintly, with the slightest trace of embarrassment. If her voice failed to reveal her embarrassment, then it was with the slight reddening of her cheeks that betrayed it.

'But I appreciate your advice, Elinor,' said Marianne, eager to make her sister more at ease. 'Although anxiety was not chiefly in my mind at present, it was indeed a matter which had been troubling me for some time. And words from the dearest sister in world should never be let go and unheeded,' she said, gleaming a smile. 'Experience has taught us that.'

'Experience or the noble Colonel Brandon, may I ask?' came a voice from outside the door. Mrs. Dashwood had made her entrance, looking upon her two eldest daughters with a smile that simply alight with a mother's pride. 'Marianne, you look very lovely indeed. I still cannot quite believe that my daughters are married...it seems a long time indeed when we were last at Norland…' she wavered off pensively.

'And inviting a passion for dead leaves,' interjected Elinor wryly, regaining some of her confidence as she shot a pointed glance towards Marianne.

Marianne was spared from returning an amused smile towards her sister as there was a clatter of hooves down below.

Mrs Dashwood gave a contented sigh, throwing her hands up into the air. 'I do believe that is Edward returning with his gloves and stick.'

'And I do believe _that_ is Margaret,' added Marianne as an excited shout resounded from below, followed by the determined marching of shoes against the floorboards. The three ladies shared a silent glance of acknowledgement before letting out a combined laugh of amusement and left the room, to be greeted with the sight of the Colonel's carriage waiting patiently in the drive – and with a resolute-looking Margaret pulling Edward quite firmly by the hand into the carriage, despite the latter's obvious hesitation.

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It was indeed an occasion to behold for the many inhabitants of Delaford. With the grounds cleared for the celebratory dance, the house glowed under the soft influence of candlelight while the interior, most notably the great hall that had been the host of many gatherings for the past centuries under the Brandon family's grave yet just eye – and Brandon was barely able to suppress a smile of incomparable triumph as the party slowly but surely filtered in.

For the past few years or so, the Delaford estate had been abandoned and neglected under the influence of Charles Brandon, his malicious scheming brother. Only after his brother's untimely yet justifiable demise had Brandon, along with the assistance of his valet, James and the housekeeper, Mrs. Harris been able to restore the old manor house to its former glory. The task itself upon its first preconception had been deemed as unthinkable – and the inhabitants of the village were terrified of the inevitable increase in taxes that had already drained them of their livelihoods under Charles Brandon's 'patronage'.

But the taxes were never passed…or even entered Brandon's mind upon his first inheriting the property. It was only to his brother's neglect alone that had caused the sorry dilapidation of the house and grounds – and was therefore his responsibility alone in putting rights to wrongs. Meagre as his Colonel's wage worth as well as his trifling inheritance, already so ill-used by the greedy hands of his brother, Brandon had been determined that none within the village be taken up with the burden of resurrecting, as if were, the property. Undoubtedly, this action had somehow endeared him to his beneficiaries and the gratitude that greeted him upon the beaming countenances that turned his way this evening was quite a fulfilling experience indeed.

He watched the festivities for a short while, returning the odd smile or bow as the village passed him by as he stood at his vantage-point by the double doors that led into the great hall. Consulting his pocket-watch, he ascertained that it was nearly a quarter to seven – and his brow creased in slight concern at the time. Surely, it was time for the Dashwoods to have arrived by now – and his mind whirred with a strange anxiety that tempted him to venture out himself, completely ignorant of his place as host and discover the cause of their unusual tardiness.

Confident steps down the far corridor alerted him of James' approach, and the bright smile upon the valet's features dispelled all irrationality from his thoughts.

'The Dashwoods have arrived, sir – along with Mr and Mrs Ferrars as well as Sir John and Mrs. Jennings.' From the knowing look on James' wizened countenance, it was not difficult to understand that he had undoubtedly understood what thoughts had been racing through his master's mind. Brandon nodded his head in acknowledgement.

'Should I inform them that you are here, sir?'

'No, no,' said Brandon firmly, as he made his way towards the front doors. 'There will be no need. And thank you, James,' he added with a grateful smile.

'Not at all, sir.'

He was feeling nervous…quite strangely so. It was not foreboding, not at all…indeed, it was quite an extraordinary sensation. His mind seemed empty, as if it had been momentarily replaced with a floating, mesmerising whirl of mist that seemed to tantalise every fibre of his being. Was it ordinary, he wondered, for anyone betrothed to be so? He was becoming increasingly aware of the steps he made upon the oak floorboards, the soft taps of his well-heeled shoes upon the lengths of carpet at the main steps…

'Ah, Colonel Brandon.'

His head levelled with the party at the door, his gaze wandering about the glowing faces that greeted him. He bowed gracefully, extending his hand in welcome.

'Mrs. Dashwood, a pleasure once again. ' His eye caught the harassed-looking Edward, Elinor placing a supportive hand on her husband's arm.

'I offer my apologies for our tardiness, Colonel,' said Edward abashedly. 'Through a careless mishap of mine, I –'

'Come, Mr Ferrars, since you have successfully graced this house with this delightful party, I will not…' he said wryly, an amused gleam in his eye, '…in the words of a familiar acquaintance of mine, "brook any apologies" since your presence here quite outweighs my former anxieties.' A combined laugh rumbled within the party, delighted at his uplifted spirits. Edward received his patron's handshake with a grateful smile before stepping aside to reveal a smiling Marianne standing behind him. Upon his noting that smile upon her joyful features, his nervous anxiety – by now, had completed dissolved.

'Miss Dashwood,' he pronounced, giving another graceful bow. His gesture was polite and courteous, but Marianne had caught the playful twinkle that had radiated betrayingly in his countenance. 'Colonel Brandon,' she replied, lowering into a polite curtsy…allowing herself the mischievous delight of seeing a look of amused surprise flit across his auburn gaze. They stood there, seemingly devoid of the surrounding party's presence, gazing wryly into each other's eyes, daring the other to break their teasing stance. A smile finally broke upon Brandon's lips. 'Touché.'

The party shared another laugh: 'Quite a charmer you are, Brandon,' chuckled a jovial Sir John. 'For Miss Dashwood here has undoubtedly met her match,' agreed Mrs. Jennings heartily, nodding her head.

Acknowledging their remarks with a small smile, Brandon offered his arm, his eyes gleaming, to which Marianne readily accepted, laying her hand upon his well-tailored sleeve.

'Excellent work, Brandon – quite excellent,' remarked Sir John as they entered the great hall. 'I never enter this house without a pure sense of amazement…for one can hardly believe that this was a completely ramshackle sort of a place before Brandon's return to Delaford,' he exclaimed jovially as his gaze wandered and revolved about the large room, his eyes distracted by the vast array of movement that flittered here and there; the excited bustle of the hems of dresses skimming about the polished floor, the numerous bows from the gentlemen that quite epitomised the easy grace and joviality that had taken over the evening's proceedings.

'And neither can I,' added Mrs. Jennings unabatedly, seemingly so full of vigorous energy that one was almost on the verge of calling for a couch to be drawn up beside her hence she fell over in her excitement.

Brandon smiled slightly as he observed his friend become increasingly engrossed with the contents of the room. However, his _own_ attention was wholly fixed upon the small warmth at his side, the precious feminine presence on his arm and he turned to her, murmuring gently as soon as the party had turned away from him, their own ears engrossed in the commentary of Sir John: 'You are quite enchanting tonight, Marianne.' He pressed his hand upon her gloved one, smiling. 'I was entirely devoid of thought when I greeted you at the door.'

Marianne smiled. 'As was the case with me, Christopher,' she whispered back. His countenance, usually grave with a determined solemnity, reddened slightly at her praise.

'Marianne, you indeed make it exceedingly difficult for me to maintain my station as a gentleman,' he teased, a grin upon his amused lips.

'Which I intend to do so for the rest of my life,' replied Marianne smoothly. He gave a warm chuckle in return.

'And what comment could have made our dear Colonel Brandon release such a merry laugh?' exclaimed Mrs. Jennings good-naturedly as she turned back towards them. 'And such a merry laugh indeed, is it not, John?'

'A very merry one indeed,' agreed Sir John, taking a sip of the wine that he was holding. Brandon bowed modestly. 'And still much too modest for his own good sake,' added Sir John, shaking his head amicably as he let out a laugh of his own, although it was clearly lacking in the unaffected charm that epitomised his good friend's.

'And we should take it among ourselves in increasing the frequency of hearing it,' cried Mrs Jennings enthusiastically, her doggedness in further match-making not yet diminishing in her advancing years. 'A dance is what is called for, dear Colonel –'

Marianne turned sharply at this, her reddened countenance clearly conveying her embarrassment at Mrs. Jennings' forward tone…and her mind stopped entirely in momentary confusion. Embarrassment? Surely, she had no need to be embarrassed?

'Oh, not aga –' exclaimed Margaret suddenly, realising the turn that had been taken.

'Margaret!' cried her mother sternly, shocked at her youngest daughter's rudeness.

Brandon smiled inwardly with amusement at Margaret's outburst, forgiving the girl's impatient spirits. It was true that Mrs. Jennings had called on him to do so before…until he was so abruptly interrupted from doing so by the disdainful presence of Mr Farley. But it had been different then. For he had not been entirely sure of Marianne's feelings for him – and his own for her. However, with the comforting presence beside him… it was obvious that no such interruptions were to be endured tonight and Brandon accepted with an easy conscience.

Marianne's 'embarrassment', however, did little to disguise the secret joy and delight that had welled up in her at the prospect of dancing with him and her happiness was rich in the depths of her eyes. Being an excellent reader of emotions, Brandon silently took note of this before turning his attention to his young beneficiary who was now under the scrutiny of Mrs. Jennings' persuasive attempts to press him into dancing with his wife: 'Oh, you shall not escape _me_, Mr. Ferrars! Let us not be shy – it is better for you to set an example to the whole village – I cannot remember when I last saw a clergyman dance at an assembly, dear me…and I must say that this will also benefit not only your reputation but also that of Mrs. Ferrars, especially so when one is in her present state of condition!'

Now it _was_ Elinor's turn to be shy and she flushed deeply at Mrs. Jennings' telling tone, only to be greeted by a gleeful chuckle from the vivacious old woman. Edward, his expression looking quite the opposite of his discomfited wife, looked proudly and ardently upon her before leading her slowly to the dance hall.

Taking Brandon's offered hand as he stepped forward under the combined and scrutinising gaze of Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Dashwood, Marianne smilingly allowed herself to be led towards the doors of the other room as her brother and sister had done so before her. She cast a fleeting glance at his countenance and the amicable smile that she received in return assured her of his state of mind; he had no objection whatsoever at the thought of dancing with her.

The hall was alive with mingled noise, chatter and laughter; all three combined as if resonating as a single voice in an uproarious pitch of uncontrollable gaiety. There was very little room and it was almost unbearably packed but Brandon, with his unbreakable soldier's determination eventually found them a large enough space where it would be fairly comfortable to carry out their steps with little difficulty.

The room grew silent as the music commenced. Brandon, expecting it to be a jig due to the rest of the evening having followed in this pattern, realised with a certain alarm that it was to be a waltz. Surely, he had not agreed to such a dance as this included in the musical repertoire this evening? He was certain that he had not. Or was it… He passed a glance across to the end of the room and noted James looking upon the situation with a visibly triumphant smile.

_Ah, so there was the answer_, Brandon observed, repressing the urge to be amused at the humorous turn his fate had taken him. James had obviously yet unexpectedly meant well but – oh, his thoughts were currently an inconceivable blur. Ruminating, though comforting, would not get them anywhere.

Marianne, no doubt having thought the same, looked _and_ felt as alarmed as he did. A look passed between them. Their Austrian counterparts in Vienna had only very recently introduced this somewhat scandalous dance to their English friends, raising a considerable amount of mixed controversy as they did so, mostly due to the rather considerable amount of increased closeness required between the lady and the gentleman. Even at this moment, several of the men and women gathered in the room had left in disgust at the mere sound of the music and this only further augmented the awkwardness of the situation.

Sighing quietly, Brandon resigned himself to his task. It was preposterous to assume that she would dance with him, especially so in this condition. He started awkwardly, stumbling slightly on his words. 'Perhaps, Marianne, you would think it best to dance another evening?' He waited in suspense for her answer. Marianne's face was presently creased in a frown, deep in thought. _She will refuse, she is certain to refuse to dance this evening. _She raised her eyes to his.

'No, Christopher…I would think it an honour to dance with you – this evening.' Brandon was taken aback by the firmness of her reply and was only assured of the true honesty of her meaning when she placed her hands expectantly into his. Impressed by her willingness, he placed his left hand on the small of her back and taking her right one into his, he confidently set into his stride.

If his dancing seemed ever so flowing and effortless when she watched and observed him from afar, it was entirely indescribable if she was forced to recount the whole of her experience of _actually dancing_ with him. Her feet seemed to float off the floor, the hem of her dress billowing and trailing elegantly behind her; the entirety of her whole being seeming to be immersed in a idyllic trance as he took the graceful lead in elegant, flowing steps. In her blissful state, she, quite involuntarily fell prey to her upraised emotions, and to Brandon's astonishment, suddenly laid her head gently on his shoulder. It was then that she heard the strong pulsing beats of his heart, which effectively betrayed the quiet exterior that he had so far assumed during the evening.

She looked up at him then in amazement. Brandon turned to her briefly and she caught a glimpse of a small smile that reflected in his expressive hazel eyes. She flushed in embarrassment as well as…dare she admit it, a certain flattered pleasure. That youthful smile was for her alone.

Time swirled away from consciousness and it seemed a short while before Marianne felt them slowly glide to a halt as the faint, lingering traces of music finally faded away and transformed into the noisy, boisterous chatter that had so recently preceded it. Brandon lowered his hands, his countenance somewhat flushed and reddened with the recent experience of dancing…and with so lovely and graceful a partner! He had not expected a pleasure, an exhilarating pleasure, such as this! He saw her look reluctantly about her; the rest of the party were quickly disappearing through the doors to converse animatedly with their various acquaintances as well as to greet the great dinner that lay before them in the dining hall.

'I presume that you are not in the mood to go to dinner just yet, Miss Dashwood?' he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

She seemed startled at his renewed formality but then gave a pleased smile of her own when she saw the wry twinkle in his eye. He was merely bluffing – so not as to succumb to his upraised feelings in the full view of public opinion, where unavoidable scrutiny was rampant.

'Yes, you are quite right – would it displease you that we should –'

'Take a walk in the gardens?' he smiled. She nodded, quite unable to refuse the growing glimmer of inexplicable tenderness that had taken hold of his gaze…nor refuse the extraordinary flutterings that had taken hold of her own racing heart.

He offered his arm; she willingly took it, eager to stay, to while away the remaining time in his presence. He too, although it was not immediately evident, was in no mood to go to dinner at the present moment…he was much too overwhelmed, as she very evidently was. As they left through the glass doors to the terrace, Brandon caught sight of a beaming Elinor and Edward, the latter giving yet another encouraging wink before being pulled away by an exuberant Mrs. Jennings, animatedly praising his 'admirable' dancing skills.

The night was warmer than it had been for many days, comfortably so and the beams of moonlight that glimmered and shimmered across the lawn illuminated the expanse of the gardens before them, offering a delightful haven of flowering nature as well as the enchanting privacy that the present situation required. They had walked on quietly for a while, though without any particular sense of direction. The exhilaration of their first dance drummed tremulously amongst their veins and Brandon could not help himself from smiling before the two beauties that lay before him, that one of nature – and the one so comfortingly walking by his side.

'It was marvellous to have finally danced with you, Marianne – indeed, 'marvellous' can hardly describe the state I'm in –' started Brandon, at last, turning to her.

'And pray, what could describe it, dear sir?' asked Marianne smilingly as he looked up at him. She need not asked for the vibrancy of his emotions were all too readily expressed in his joyous countenance, the tender smile on his lips and the gleaming expression in his gaze as he looked upon her.

'With no words imaginable – for I am quite bereft of them with you before me,' he answered softly. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed it tenderly against them. 'Although with nature's beauty before me…' He bent gracefully and straightened, a rose in hand and murmuring: '_…Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, nor praise the deep vermillion rose…_' He offered it to her, smiling. '_They_ _were but sweet, but figures of delight, drawn after you –_ _you pattern of all those.' _He gazed into her gleaming eyes, alight with some intoxicating emotion that caused his breath to stop completely. Taking both her hands into his own, he leaned towards her, pressing a gentle kiss upon her lips. A restrained one, although it hinted at more, for the fear that someone might unexpectedly join them outside.

It was fortunate then that Brandon's wits were about him as hesitant footsteps soon alerted them of another's presence. Stepping away, he turned to find Edward and Elinor making their way down the path to join them, their expressions pleased – yet quite too much so that it hinted that they had seen at least a little of their nightly walk.

'Revelling in the warm night, Colonel?' inquired Edward amusedly.

'Indeed, I am – Mr Ferrars,' Brandon answered in equal good-humour.

'As with us, Colonel,' added Elinor smilingly. 'Although there were other reasons that we have come here to join you both.'

Brandon nodded. 'Indeed,' he answered smoothly. 'I fear that I am neglecting my duties as host.'

Edward sighed, gesturing back to the house. 'I fear so, Colonel. The assembly is awaiting your presence – or to be unduly honest, quite in need to begin dinner.' They shared a laugh, each already comfortable with the other's company – an optimistic sign to be seen, one of many, of their future roles as dear brothers and sisters.

'To the house, perhaps, brother?' ventured Edward smilingly.

Brandon nodded in agreement. 'Lead on, Mr. Ferrars.'

They each took the arm of their respective ladies, with Edward leading the way upon the gravel path. From where they stood, it was not an exceptionally large distance from the house but with spirited, unabated thoughts flowing through their minds…of their first dance, the majestic beauty that surrounded them; it seemed quite a distance indeed. Time seemed no longer a matter, an abstract figment of the mind and when Brandon finally prised his gaze from her, Edward and Elinor were completely out of sight.

They quickened their pace, now quite aware of the mass of guests awaiting their arrival at the house. The lights glowing through the windows were visible now, only a few feet from where they now walked. The music had stopped, only to be replaced by the intermingling sounds of the surrounding night. Brandon had taken the lead yet only slightly, for he still looked back at her, slowing his pace until she managed to catch up.

A voice rang out from behind them. 'Miss Dashwood.'

Marianne turned in surprise, unaware that they had been followed. For a moment, she knew not who had addressed her for there seemed to be no one in sight apart from the various statues that littered the grounds. The voice addressed her again, this time familiar and hesitant. 'Miss Dashwood.'

It had come from her right and to her dismay; the anxious countenance of Mr Farley greeted her from the darkness. Her initial reaction was dart away from him, to be free from the sight of the gentleman who had caused such havoc within their lives. But something within Mr Farley's gaze implored her to stay, as if he strove to tell of something that had plaguing his mind.

'Mr. Farley,' she stated flatly, devoid of any emotion. Mr. Farley flinched ever so slightly and his eyes darted about the place, only to be startled at Brandon's disapproving countenance observing him with obvious abhorrence. He bowed, noting that the Colonel only returned it curtly. Perhaps it was Brandon's chilly reception along with Marianne's own that purged the thoughts from his mind for he stood there rather awkwardly before raising his hand, and in it, a carefully folded cloth.

'Your handkerchief, Miss Dashwood,' he managed pathetically. 'You dropped it in your haste.'

Marianne reached out her hand, only to refrain herself from doing so. It seemed a trivial matter, a handkerchief in the hands of a man that she now disliked and to take it back into her possession seemed only sensible. But, her mind cried in protest, to take it would be to give him hope. A hope that she would not dare again present. Her hand stilled at her side. She regarded him coldly. 'Mr. Farley,' she pronounced, dropping into a polite curtsy. Without a further word, she dismissed him, returning to Brandon's side. They said nothing for a moment, only speaking when the hesitant footsteps from afar alerted them of Mr. Farley's departure. Marianne looked up tentatively.

'I was not aware that you invited him,' she said quietly.

'Neither was I,' said Brandon coolly as he heard the last of Farley's footsteps. A brave smile tugged at his lips. 'Come; let us return to the house. We should not allow him to ruin our evening, Marianne.' He observed her carefully, awaiting her next reaction. He had not enjoyed watching her interact with Farley and the irrepressible ghosts of jealousy played about with his present insecurities – upon realising this, he pushed the thoughts away.

She turned. 'Yes, let us return. And I hope to the heavens above that we do not see that odious man ever again.' _For there is no one else now in the world but you, dearest Christopher. _

Brandon's eyes studied hers closely, marvelling at the newfound emotion that greeted him there – and the realisation that it was wholly for him alone. Slowly, he leaned his head towards her, his words a soft caress against her ear: 'Is there any felicity in the world superior to this?'

To this, she merely smiled but the look in her ardent gaze was enough to mesmerise him completely. Without a word, he offered his arm and smiling, they both stepped into the crisp, glittering light together.

FINIS.

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A/N: Yes, this is the end of my story…but not the end of the Brandons' own story, I am very glad to say. To all my readers, I thank you for your support and reviews over the past year – they've meant a great deal to me – thank you again! I am planning to write a sequel…although I can't guarantee that it will be posted anytime soon. By the way if any of you were interested, the words that Brandon says to Marianne in this part were from Shakespeare's Sonnet 98, lines 9 – 12. Until my next S&S posting, feel free to check out my other stories if you are unable to wait…until then, farewell – but not goodbye!

Cheers,

austenfan1990


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